


mistletoe and other holiday propaganda

by brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Blow Jobs in a Car, Christmas, Crying During Sex, Daddy Kink, Drugs, Drunk Kissing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fraternities & Sororities, Jonathan Byers Being Creepy, Light Stalking, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, POV Alternating, SO, Sharing a Bed, Shotgunning, Under-negotiated Kink, and actually you know i'm gonna add it for later chapters:, chapters after chapter 5 are all explicit, ie: billy will not stop joking about it, is billy hargrove into daddy kink or does he just like joking about it?, jk he's into everything as long as he can make it gross, light daddy kink i guess, like actual daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: Everybody wants something for Christmas.It just so happens that the only way for everyone to get what they want is for Billy and Steve to pretend to be dating over Christmas break. It's really the only option.





	1. i'm dreaming of a fuckboi christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _billy's christmas get-rich-quick scheme definitely does not involve fake-dating the guy he's had a massive hardon for, for, like, years._

Steve hates the holidays.

It’s not that he’s not fond of all the colors and lights and seasonal coffee; he likes that shit. Loves it, even. He’d _die_ without his quad venti breve peppermint mocha with extra whip.

But he hates going _home_ for the holidays.

Thanksgiving was hell enough, now he has to go spend two more weeks in that damn museum his mother calls a house while his dad tells him all the ways he’s disappointing the family name over dinner each night. Worse, his mom won’t leave him alone about _bringing a nice young lady home_ and _whatever happened to that sweet Nancy girl?_ like Steve didn’t get his heart absolutely broken over Nancy four years ago.

Plus, the boys at Theta Phi are planning a trip up to the ski lodge for New Year’s, and Steve’s gone the last three years in a row, _and_ Steve’s gotten so thoroughly _laid_ each time that he’s already trying to find ways to weasel out of this year’s big office shindig his dad wants to drag him to simply because he thinks Steve’s _actually_ still studying to get an MBA instead of an art history degree but, like, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Steve’s there on scholarship, anyway.

So, Steve’s kind of wallowing, just a little, slung half over the couch in the living room of The Big Haus, bemoaning his first goddamn world problems to Dustin on Facetime, when Tommy comes in with a damn Santa hat on and a phone blasting some god awful remix of _White Christmas_. Steve hurls a throw pillow at him just out of spite.

“Whoa, dude, have some chill.”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, making a face into his phone and then sending it off without a caption. “Put something else on.”

“Where’s your Christmas spirit, Harrington?” Tommy asks, catching the pillow only to hurl it right back.

And see, Tommy _sounds_ mean, but Steve’s known Tommy since they both were still in diapers, so he _knows_ Tommy’s just being Tommy. He’s brash and harsh and full of sharp edges -- but when it comes to the guys in the frat, he’s honestly one of the _nicer_ ones.

Other than Steve, maybe, who’s full of places where he’s too ripe, too soft.

And _sure_ , Steve’s still a dick, too -- he knows that because Nancy won’t stop reminding him -- but he’s a college-age guy. It’s kind of in his job description.

“I must’ve left it at Carol’s last night after I fucked her,” Steve says, but he’s grinning a little at the eyeroll he gets back from Dustin on his phone, and then grinning even more when Tommy throws his Santa hat at him. “Bah humbug!”

“You’re such a tool,” Tommy says, which makes Steve laughs, because it’s _exceedingly_ funny to get called a _tool_ by, like, the _biggest_ tool on campus.

“I’m just sick of all the shitty Christmas remixes,” Steve tells him. “Like, stop trying so fucking hard. The classics work fine.”

“You hate the classics,” Tommy says, flopping down on the couch next to Steve. “Hey, toothless,” he says, at Dustin's tiny image on Steve's phone.

 _“Your friends are so fucking offensive,”_ Dustin says, and Steve snorts, grunting as Tommy shoves at his legs where they’re half sprawled over the majority of the couch, like, Steve’s long ass giraffe legs are a genuine hassle.

“ _You’re_ my fucking friend,” Steve tells Dustin.

“Are you gonna come to the thing?” Tommy asks Steve. “Brad’s looking for RSVP’s or whatever and apparently you're still a _maybe_. What's that about?”

“My _dad_ ,” Steve says, even as Dustin crows a _he's fucked_ , and Steve hangs up on him as he continues. “There's some stupid office thing he wants me to go to on the first. I'm trying to get out of it.”

“Okay, but can't you blow him off like you _always_ do?”

Tommy shoves at Steve with his foot, digging his heel into the meat of Steve's thigh.

“Just like, tell him you're quitting school to take up stripping or something. He’ll stop talking to you until you tell him you're kidding and then he won't even _remember_ the office thing.”

“Oh, yeah, because _that_ will make Christmas dinner such a fucking _blast_.” Steve huffs. “Mom keeps saying if I’ve got _plans_ with some _girl_ it would be different, but she’s, like, _so distressed_ that I’m single.”

“So? That's even _better._ Jesus, Steve, haven't you ever heard of _lying_ before?”

“ _Yes_ , asshole, I know how to _lie_ , but--” Steve huffs, wriggling on the couch until he’s sitting up proper and shoving Tommy’s gross feet away from him. “But if I say I’m going to someone’s house for New Year’s, I have to bring someone _home_ for _Christmas_. That’s _always_ how it’s worked.”

“So? Find someone who doesn’t wanna go home for Christmas. Hell, _anyone_ would ditch their family plans to go to the Harrington’s for Christmas. Your parents would probably just hand them a fat stack of cash.”

“Who’s handing who a stack of cash?”

Billy strides his way into the living room, still in his workout clothes from hitting the gym, not a jacket in sight, grinning as he leans over the back of the couch to shove his way right into Steve and Tommy’s conversation.

Like always.

Steve rolls his eyes, nose wrinkling up, because Billy smells like sweat and smoke; it isn’t a hot combination.

“They don’t hand out stacks of _cash_ ,” Steve says. “But my dad would probably get them, like, a hefty giftcard or something.”

“Harrington’s parents,” Tommy says.

“And a giftcard’s _basically_ just cash,” Billy says.

Steve doesn’t even have time to argue, because Tommy’s pushing himself a little more upright, a _delighted_ expression on his face.

Which is a _bad_ sign.

Because Tommy Hall hasn’t had a good idea since _kindergarten_. At the _latest_.

“No,” Steve says, before he can even talk. Not that that deters Tommy in the slightest.

“Hey, Hargrove. You hate going home for Christmas, right?” Tommy asks.

Billy shrugs. Like no one in the frat heard Neil Hargrove, drunk off his ass, screaming at Billy on the front lawn the day after Thanksgiving. Which is fair, because _no one_ is stupid enough to mention to Billy that they heard it -- everyone’s pretty fond of not getting punched straight in the teeth, brotherhood be damned.

“It’s whatever,” Billy says.

Tommy’s grin just gets _wider_. “Well, Stevie here needs a _date_ for Christmas, or his _daddy_ won’t let him go on the ski trip.”

Steve grabs the throw pillow between them and starts beating Tommy in the side of the head with it. “You’re such a _prick_.”

But it’s _fine_ , because Billy Hargrove would _never_ , not in a _million years_ \--

“Going to Harrington’s for Christmas before he even puts out?” Billy says, the grin on his face even wider than Tommy’s. “Sounds real old fashioned, but...for a _stack_ of money? Consider me your plus one, babe.”

“A _giftcard_ ,” Steve corrects, eyes narrowed on him, still half smothering Tommy’s muffled laughter with a pillow. “And you’re _joking_ , right?”

Billy just stretches. His shirt’s still damp with sweat and it sticks to his pecs a little as he lifts his arms into the air.

“Serious as a heart attack, Harrington. Why, you don’t think I’m pretty enough to bring home to daddy?”

Steve sputters a little, and decides that Tommy’s at least a little less obnoxious than Billy, so he hurls the pillow at his face instead. “I just don’t think my parents are gonna _buy_ it. They’re dumb but they’re not exactly _stupid_. And we don’t exactly _get along_.”

And that’s true. Steve and Billy have had what the house calls _a healthy competitive nature_ with one another since they rushed together freshman year. Steve doesn’t much like Billy, and Billy doesn’t much like him, most of the time, even if they do _actually_ hang out with one another every once in a while.

And by once in a while, Steve means like almost all the time. Especially at the gym. And when they’re studying. And when they’re getting baked in Billy’s Camaro.

But, like, Steve wouldn’t call them _best friends_ or anything.

Because Billy Hargrove’s an asshole _all_ the time. And somehow, for _whatever reason_ , he’s kind of more of a dick to Steve than to anyone else. Constantly needling him, constantly shoving him or getting up in his face.

It’s _annoying_.

“What, you don’t think I could play nice?” Billy says, eyebrows up. “Or is it that the Harrington’s put on a liberal act, but wouldn’t want their _only son_ bringing home a dude?”

Because, yeah _, everyone_ knows that Steve’s parents are pretty active in campaign circles for liberal candidates. They’re like, _best friends_ with the current Senator, or whatever. It’s something they let slip in practically every conversation they ever have.

But Steve knows that Billy’s _not wrong_. When Steve started posting about that fling he had with the TA from his _History of Western Art and Civilization_ class on Facebook, his mom had called him _crying_ about _grandbabies_ and his dad had nearly had an _aneurysm_.

His parents like to play open and accepting, but Steve knows they want him married to a nice moderate girl, popping out two-point-five kids in the next couple of years before, as his mom says, _they both go gray_.

Like they both aren’t already covering their gray hairs up with trips to that fancy salon on the east side of town.

And if that isn’t the fucking rub. His parents like to pretend and play dress up and set their house up like it’s a goddamn fragile piece of art, but it’s a house of cards that could come tumbling in an _instant_. And Steve _knows_ his dad won’t want to let Steve take _Billy_ to the work thing, so.

So, _actually_ , it’s not the _worst_ idea.

Twisting to properly face him, arms draping over the back of the couch, Steve stares at him long and hard. “You’re _actually_ willing to dress up in a monkey suit and play nice with my _parents_?”

“Hey, I look _good_ in a suit,” Billy says. “Better than you do. I bet your mom would be _all over_ me. Or,” Billy grins, “she would be, if she didn’t think I was all about her son. Or -- do you think I’m not a good enough actor, is that it?”

“I don’t think you could pretend to like me if you got _paid_ ,” Steve says.

“I would be getting paid, baby. That's the whole _point_.” Billy grins, then leans back down against the back of the couch. “Come on. I'll prove it to you. I'll take you out to dinner.”

“Yeah, to fucking _Chipotle_ ,” Tommy laughs. “You cheapass.”

Steve snorts as Billy flips him off without even _looking_ at him. “You wanna take me on a _date_?” he asks.

“I'm _willing_ to take you on a date to show you I'm worth bringing home to daddy. I _want_ that cold hard cash.”

Steve huffs. “ _Okay_. Say I say yes. When would this _date_ happen?”

“Uh, _tonight_ , obviously.”

Tommy cackles. “Wear that rugby shirt that makes your ‘ _eyes pop_ ,’” Tommy says. “It's the one he always wears when he's trying to get laid,” he says, looking up at Billy.

“Shut _up_ , Tommy, oh, my _god_.” Steve says, shoving him away so hard he actually topples off the edge of the couch, cackling all the while. “Okay, _fine_. Tonight.”

“It’s a _date_ ,” Hargrove says, and then he’s wandering off, back up to his room, Tommy still laughing like a hyena on the ground next to Steve.

***

Steve _isn’t_ nervous. He _isn't_.

He’s just got, like, a heart problem or something. And it’s extra hot in The Haus because it’s extra cold outside and at least three of the brothers _crank up_ the heat until it’s blistering, like, _all the time_. And Steve’s sweater only _feels_ like it’s itching because he’s hot and sweating and it doesn’t feel good on his skin like that.

But he’s not nervous. Not in the least.

He also doesn’t wear the stupid rugby shirt because while Tommy’s _right,_ now Steve can’t _look good_ because Billy will know that Tommy’s _right_. And that just doesn’t look good for anyone.

Particularly Steve.

Steve’s image and keeping up that image has been nailed into his head since birth. It’s a hard habit to break.

So, instead of the rugby shirt, he puts on a sweater his mom bought him while he was home for Thanksgiving break; it’s blue and soft and cashmere, so it shouldn’t be itchy, but it _is_ itchy.

 _And_ someone is blasting that stupid remix of _White Christmas_ again.

“Shut _up_ ,” Steve says, pounding on the wall between his room and the next.

He only gets an answering pound in return of someone chucking something at the wall.

It’s only about a minute after that that someone knocks on his door.

Pounds on it, really. In the way that only Billy Hargrove does.

He doesn’t even give Steve a second to open it, just opens it _himself_ and lets himself in.

“Hey, baby, you ready?” Billy says, and he’s got this cheesy fucking _smile_ on his face, the one that Steve’s seen a _million_ times before -- the one Billy uses when he’s trying to get laid, the one he uses when he’s being particularly charming.

“Stop calling me that,” Steve tells him as he shrugs on his coat, pausing in the mirror to comb his fingers through his hair.

Steve _expects_ Billy to be a dick, to say _something_ biting.

Instead, he gets: “Anything you want.”

And when Steve looks back at the door, Billy’s just there, leaning against the frame, eyes all _soft_.

And, like, Steve’s _never_ met this person in his entire life. He thinks maybe he’s _seen him_ , like, in _passing_. But that’s totally different than being at the epicenter.

“Don’t do that, either.” Steve tells him, because he’s weirded out, walking up and then easing by him out the door. “It’s no fun if you just _give me_ what I want.”

“You _want_ me to charm the pants off you?” Billy says, and that’s a _little_ better, but it’s still not great. “I’m supposed to be proving to you I can convince your parents, Harrington. Not take you on the best goddamn date of your life.”

“ _Pretty sure_ you can’t have one without the other,” Steve says, glancing at Billy over his shoulder. “If you can’t convince _me_ , you can’t convince _them_. And my mom _knows_ my type.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he shifts his shoulders a little, like he’s losing the act, like he’s shaking it off.

That _doesn’t_ stop him from looping his arm over Steve’s shoulders, pressing up against his side like he belongs there. And he’s so goddamn _warm_ it’s insane, and it should be uncomfortable because the whole house is like the surface of the goddamn sun -- but it’s not. Weirdly.

Steve still shifts, though, underneath the weight of his arm.

“I hope you’re ready. I’ve got a _fun_ night planned,” Billy says.

“Should I be worried?” Steve asks. “I feel like I should be worried. Your version of _fun_ seems to be the equivalent to _trouble_.”

“Put this on,” Billy says, and holds out a pink, silk blindfold.

Steve doesn’t _want_ to know where it’s been, or why he has it.

“Are you _kidding_?” Steve asks, blinking at it. “Tell me you're _kidding_.”

“It’s a _surprise_ ,” Billy says. “Put on the blindfold, baby.”

Steve's ears and neck go hot, his lips pursing, and he snatches the blindfold out of Billy's hand. “You better not lead me into any corners or down any stairs.”

He stops long enough to put the blindfold on. It itches the bridge of his nose. Billy's arm feels somehow heavier in the dark, and he feels like a furnace pressed against his side like this.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Very,” Billy says.

He is _shockingly_ careful as he leads Steve out of the house, telling Steve of every step, every bump, every little thing that might make him trip.

Steve feels a little dizzy, but he’s _positive_ that’s from the darkness all around him.

Billy helps him into what can only be the Camaro, because it smells like smoke and old leather and also _Billy_. Steve tries not to breathe in too deep.

The door clicks closed once Steve is settled, and then Steve hears the telltale sounds of Billy sitting down in the driver’s seat. And then, of course, there’s the rumble of the engine before they’re pulling off the curb.

“I hope you’re comfy, baby.”

Steve huffs, fumbling for his seatbelt. “As I'll ever be.”

And then they’re _off_. The Camaro careens around corners, speeds down what Steve _knows_ are side roads, until they finally hit what _must_ be highway, because it’s smooth and flat and without all the twists of the city.

He’s got _no_ idea where they’re going, but they’re listening to The Weeknd as they’re going, so Steve can’t be _too_ mad about it.

“Before you ask, I’m not taking you out into the middle of nowhere to murder you, baby.”

“No, you're just taking me somewhere, _blindfolded_ , where you'll leave me for dead, lost, and without a way home,” Steve says.

“Yeah, because _that’s_ how I’m gonna get a big fat stack of cash from daddy Harrington.”

“ _Stop_ calling him _daddy_ ,” Steve says, and he feels a little _dizzy_ as they drive along, a little unanchored _._

Like he might just drift away.

“Would you rather I call myself _daddy_? Do _you_ wanna call me _daddy_ , baby?” Billy says, and Steve can hear the smirk in his voice, can picture the way it looks, making his face go all asymmetrical and shit.

It makes Steve itch all over again. Makes him feel hot in the face.

He scoffs and reaches for the AC, blind, and cranks it on high.

“Is that what gets you off? Some hot little thing in your lap going _please, daddy, please_?”

There’s a beat, a single solitary beat where Billy’s quiet. Steve can picture the way he licks his lips, the way he does when he’s thinking, when he’s stalling, when he’s trying to disarm someone.

“Is that a promise?” Billy asks, and his voice is lower, dripping with something sweet and sultry. Like it was earlier, when he was putting on the act.

It’s _alarming_ how good he is at that, at directing his attention on someone like Steve, someone with a _dick_.

Because as far as Steve knows, Billy Hargrove is the _straightest_ guy he’s ever met.

“You wish,” Steve says, with more bravado than he feels, because his heart is beating a little fast again. “We don't have to put on a _peepshow_ to convince my parents we're dating.”

“If you say so,” Billy says, and Steve can still hear the grin in his voice, the predatory cadence of Billy’s voice.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the drive, which is _fine_. Preferable, really.

Steve feels the car pull off the highway, feels it trundle down a few roads before it nearly stops. That’s when things start to get bumpy.

“...Are we on _grass_?” Steve asks.

Billy doesn't reply, really. Just kind of laughs at him.

“Oh, my _god_ , you _did_ bring me out here to kill me, what the _fuck_ , Billy--?”

They go over two more bumps before Billy finally throws the car into park. Steve whips off the blindfold before Billy can tell him to.

“Impatient,” Billy says, but he’s grinning as Steve looks from him and then away to their surroundings.

They’re in a field, parked at the end of a row of cars, with about fifteen or so cars scattered in front of them. And up ahead, about a hundred meters? A giant screen, faintly illuminated with the flickering title screen of _Ghostbusters_. The 80’s version.

Sliding forward in his seat, Steve blinks at the screen through the windshield.

“The drive-ins?” Steve asks, and finds himself _smiling_ before he can even _stop_ himself, glancing back at Billy. “You gonna pretend to stretch and put your arm around me, too?”

Steve hasn’t been to the drive-ins since he was a _kid,_ with Tommy’s family. Why do that, when you could go to the fancy movie theatre in town? At least, that was Mr. and Mrs. Harrington’s philosophy.

Billy _yawns_ , exaggerated. “I _am_ real tired…”

“You're _ridiculous_ ,” Steve says, but he's still smiling as he leans back in his seat. “Did you bring snacks, at least?”

Billy makes a face. “Don’t be a fucking _heathen_ , Harrington.”

He rolls down the window -- literally _rolls_ it, because his car is so goddamn _old_ and gestures out the window. A moment later, someone comes up and Billy puts on his friendliest grin.

“Two popcorns, a box of hot tamales, and a bag of gummy worms.”

When they’re gone, Billy tosses a flask at Steve.

“And that’s to share. And don’t you _dare_ wipe your greasy popcorn hands on my seats.”

Steve untwists the cap on the flask and takes a proper swig. He hisses a little, at the cheap burn of whiskey, and then takes another pull before passing it back.

“Such a goddamn romantic,” Steve drolls. “You're really convincing me with all the sweet talk.”

“Shut up, this is the best date you’ve been on in a year and you _know_ it.”

Steve huffs and crosses his arms, but he doesn't _deny_ it. Just kind of sits there and pouts because Billy's _right_.

The silence is enough of an answer that Billy just keeps on grinning, tilting his seat back a little, getting comfy.

The popcorn comes and Steve gets his own bag. Billy puts the candy between them, awfully generous.

“So, if you _feel_ like saying _thank you_ for the date halfway through the movie,” Billy says, and then gestures between his legs.

Steve stares at him for a long second, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth to keep from gaping, and making Billy _wait_ while he chews slow and swallows. Billy's grin doesn't drop for a second.

“My hair's not long enough for you to pretend I'm a chick,” Steve tells him.

That does not, somehow, preclude Billy from fucking reaching over and getting his fingers all up in the back of Steve’s hair. It’s surprising, honestly -- Billy doesn’t normally touch people too much, other than shoving against them with his shoulder or draping an arm over them. Nothing outside of what you might see after a football game, amongst players.

But no -- now, he’s getting his fingers right into Steve’s hair, balling them up to make a fist. Not pulling too hard -- but tugging, just a little.

“Hm. Seems pretty similar, to me,” Billy says, thoughtful look on his face.

Steve's head sways back, just a little, when Billy gives another soft pull. Steve's scalp prickles to life, his breath catching, and he bats at Billy's arm with his hand.

“Would you cut it out?” Steve says, face pinched, but his mouth is kind of _watering._ “I'm not gonna _blow_ you.”

Billy lets go, but the warmth of his hand lingers. His head still tingles.

And Billy’s just cackling, laughing his ass off as the lights outside dim and the title sequence starts. Steve turns his focus forward, picking at his popcorn, pointedly _ignoring_ Billy. Flush and tingling from scalp to toe.

The problem is, Steve kind of _hates_ Billy in a way that isn't all that much like _hate_.

It's more of, like, a steady and constant _annoyance_ accompanied by a hefty fucking amount of _oh, god, just fuck me_. And a side of _sometimes he's halfway decent to hang around_.

Billy _gets it_. Gets the pressure and the shitty parents and all of that. And, when he's not being a total _tool_ , he's not totally awful. And he always has good weed and better music.

Plus, he's pretty to look at.

Steve would be lying if he said he _hadn't_ thought about blowing him before.

So, he slouches in his seat and focuses on the movie and ignores Billy, instead.

 _Eventually_ , Billy stops laughing.

The air in the car feels a little warmer than before. And even though Steve _should_ be mad, he’s kinda -- not.

Even with Billy being Billy, it’s _still_ a good date. Because honestly, Steve _loves_ Ghostbusters, and he loves shitty movie theatre popcorn, and he loves gummy bears even though he hates hot tamales. It’s still -- good.

So, Steve gets comfy. Toes off his sneakers and tucks his legs up under him. Shrugs out of his coat, so it's a little less warm. Reaches over and snags the flask off of Billy's thigh and takes another mouthful before handing it back.

Billy only drinks a little. He’s not normally _careful_ , and Steve’s known him to drive drunk before, to boast about it even, because he’s an _ass_. But he’s clearly not looking to get drunk tonight. It probably speaks more to the fact that he likely drank too much last night and is still feeling the effects than he’s concerned about driving Steve home later -- but still, there’s the possibility. And even the hint of Billy thinking of something like that, of giving even one single shit -- well, it’s kind of nice.

What’s _not_ nice is the way Billy keeps plucking gummy worms out of Steve’s fingers as he’s going to eat them, right before he drops them into his mouth. Billy snatches them away and then snaps them up, chowing down like he’s starving.

“ _Dude_ ,” Steve says, when he does it for the sixth time, shoving at Billy's grinning face as he lets the worm dangle from his lips like some kind of demented lure. “Keep your sticky fingers _away_ from the gummy worms.”

“What, are you offering to lick ‘em off for me?” Billy says -- no, mumbles really, mouth full of candy gummy.

“If you want my mouth on you that bad, just _ask_ ,” Steve says, plucking up another worm from the bag for himself.

Billy laughs, loud, as he shoves a hand full of popcorn into his mouth as something flashy happens on screen, illuminating his face with green and white.

“I’m not that _easy_ , Harrington. But remind me again in an hour and we’ll see where I’m at.”

“ _Pretty sure_ you were telling me to suck your dick in raw gratitude, just a little bit ago.” Steve says, dubious, sucking a buttery thumb into his mouth. “Can't play it both ways, Hargrove. Slut or prude; pick one.”

“You _know_ I’m not a prude,” Billy says.

And _yeah_ , Steve knows. Billy’s real loud about when he’s going out to get laid, and he’s handsy as hell at parties. And sure, Steve’s never actually walked in on Billy fucking anyone like he has Tommy, he _feels_ like he has, with the way Billy’s described some of his sexual encounters before. He describes blowjobs so goddamn vividly that Steve probably knows enough to give Billy the best head of his _life_ , he’s got his preferences down pat.

“Yeah, well, you don't play one well, either.” Steve tells him. “Honestly, my parents will buy it more if you're just you're usual gross self. My dad'll just think you're _a phase_.”

“Will I still get cash if I’m a phase, or do I have to pretend to be smitten?”

“ _Gift card_ ,” Steve corrects. Then, he pauses, thinking about it. “He might actually pay you more to _go away_ if you act like you're smitten. Maybe break my heart while you're at it.”

“How good are you at acting like you’re broken up over someone? Wait -- if they’re as pretty as me, it shouldn’t be _hard_. Just don’t let me break your heart for good, huh?”

Steve throws a gummy worm at him. “Please. Like you could convince them your smitten in the first place.”

“I _absolutely_ could,” Billy says.

And then he reaches over, sticky fingers and all, and grabs Steve’s hand. He intertwines their fingers and lets their hands rest on top of Steve’s thigh.

“Real convincing,” Steve says, dry and droll, then leans forward and bats his eyes. “Careful, I might _swoon._ ”

“What, are you angling for a kiss? Are your parents gonna check to make sure my tongue’s down your throat?”

But Billy doesn’t lean away like Steve thought he would, doesn’t _no homo_ his way out of it. Instead, he just leans forward a couple inches and grins.

“My mom hangs mistletoe in every archway of the house,” Steve says, and it's true, even if the next thing out of his mouth isn't exactly totally honest. “She'd get suspicious if I didn't take advantage of every single sprig of it. She's gonna expect to see us kiss _at least_ once. Think you can handle that?”

“What, you think I can’t handle a few kisses? I mean, they’re probably going to _suck_ , but maybe you can learn something from me, ya know?”

Steve burns a little at that-- but then thinks maybe he just means it'll suck because Steve _has a dick_.

Still, it's the spite and maybe a little bit of the cheap whiskey that makes him lean in more. Makes him tilt his head. Makes him smile real nice.

“Just pretend I'm any other bitch in the sea, then.”

“Prettier than average,” is all Billy says, with all the charm he possesses.

And then Billy’s grabbing at Steve’s hair again, pulling him forward and meeting him the rest of the way in a kiss.

Steve's a little startled. He didn't actually think that would _work_.

But Billy's lips are on his and they're warm and firm and Steve's _not_ gonna complain. Not at all.

Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time he locked lips with a Theta Phi.

So, he tilts his head a little, eases in a little closer, moans like he _wants it_ and grips Billy by the open front of his shirt. Lets his eyes go half mast and lets his mouth do the work; Nancy always said he could kiss her dizzy.

And Billy gives as good as he gets, licking into Steve’s mouth like he owns it. He’s not _wrong_ \-- he’s damn good at kissing. And it’s _just_ as Steve’s getting into it, pulling Billy closer, that it happens.

And it happens _fast_.

One second Steve’s getting kissed to hell and back -- the next, Billy’s pulling back...and then licking a stripe up his face, from his lips to his cheek, wet and flat and warm.

Steve sputters away, shoving Billy back as his nose wrinkles up and Billy cackles.

“You're _disgusting_ ,” Steve says, wiping his cheek off with his sleeve. “ _Jesus_ , Hargrove.”

But Billy’s fingers are still in his hair. They loosen, just a little bit, and Billy ruffles his hand in Steve’s hair before pulling it away.

“Admit it, I’m a good kisser,” Billy says.

“I dunno. Do you _always_ end them like that?” Steve asks, angling Billy's review mirror his way and smoothing down his hair. “Because if you do, it makes sense as to why you never bring anyone back to the house.”

“I don't bring anyone back to the house because I rarely sleep with the same person twice,” he says, making a face like that shit’s beneath him.

“Slut,” Steve says, with a little bit of fondness.

Honestly, he's just glad Billy hasn't tried to pull some macho shit. It's -- honestly kind of what Steve _expected_ of him.

It's kind of refreshing.

“Town bicycle,” Billy retorts back, stealing one of Tommy's favorite insults for Steve. Real clever, Tommy, with _bi_ -cycle.

Steve looks him, sees his grin in the low flickering light from the screen, and elbows him hard. “Bitch.”

“So what's it like, kissing the famed _Billy Hargrove?_ ” Billy asks, shoving back.

And it's no secret that Billy loves kissing. While Steve's never caught him with his pants down, he's caught Billy kissing practically every chick he knows. He's unabashed, unashamed.

“ _Wet_ ,” Steve says, giving him a look. “And a little salty. Nothing I'd write home about.”

“Shove it. Like you can even _pretend_ it was bad.”

And then, because he's a _dick_ , Billy _moans_ , just like Steve did. But a little louder, a little more exaggerated.

“You've got a clever tongue,” Steve admits with a shrug, popping some more popcorn into his mouth.

“Tell me something I don't know,” Billy says.

“You've got an ego the size of my _dick_ ,” Steve says, which is saying a _lot_ , and he knows Billy knows it, and then gestures out the windshield. “Now, watch the fucking movie.”

And it's already a good chunk of the way through, but Billy laughs, delighted at Steve's joke, and settles in, actually quieting down for the remainder of the film.


	2. it's the most dreadful time of the year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _what's a good fake relationship without some pictures for historical accuracy? even moms know how to facebook stalk these days._

“I'm sorry, you're doing _what_?”

Barb looks something between horrified and amused, face doing something real unflattering that's going to give her wrinkles in like five years, _maximum_.

“I'm spending Christmas with Harrington for the cash his parents are going to fork over.”

“It’s probably more likely to be a gift card, right?” Barb says, like that's important at _all_.

“Why the fuck does every give a _shit_ about that?” Billy says, shaking his head. “ _Semantics._ ”

They're in the library, in one of the little study rooms by the back. They can talk as loud as they want, as long as no one resorts to screaming. Which, _maybe_ , has happened once before, but _only_ because Barb got Billy real heated over the book of Job because she had a shitty take on it. _Look_ , Barb was raised agnostic. She doesn’t get to talk to Billy about the bible like that when she didn’t have to sit through, like, a million hours of Father O’Connell lecturing about catechism _every_ Sunday.

“I don't,” Barb says, waving a hand, eyes rolling behind her glasses, and Billy _knows_ what she looks like when she's about to read him the riot act and he _doesn't want to hear it_. “Are you _crazy?_ Like, I always knew you were crazy, but I'm starting to worry you're _certifiable_.”

“What, are you trying to tell me a couple hundred dollars and Harrington’s stuffy rents are _worse_ than spending Christmas break at Casa Hargrove?”

“ _No_ ,” Barb says. “But it would be like me spending Christmas as _Nancy's fake girlfriend_ just there to make Karen give that sour lemon face over turkey and store bought _pie_ \-- i.e. _not_ a great idea.”

“Okay, but you and Wheeler have _history_. There's a shit pile of untied strings there. Me and Harrington? Nada.”

Which is not _totally_ true, and they both know it. Because Barb’s seen Billy plastered enough times to hear about how _hot_ Steve is, how _perfect_ he is, and _just_ how much Billy hates him for it.

Barb's brow says it all. “You're crazy.”

“I'm _broke,”_ Billy says. Then, he shrugs. “Besides, we already kissed. And it was fine.”

“I'm _sorry_. You _what_?”

Her voice raises enough to _maybe_ get them in trouble.

“Why didn't you _lead_ with that?”

“Because it's not like we’re _dating_. I kiss everyone. I've kissed _you_.”

“You don't want to _fuck_ me until I can't remember anything but _your_ _name_ ,” Barb says, and Billy's really regretting two cent margarita night at the Mexican place on Main all of a sudden.

“Okay, but it's not like I'm into him,” he says, and Barb makes a face, so he tries again. “Okay, it's not like I'm in love with him.”

Which is _true_ , honestly. Because Billy's never _been_ in love. He's way too smart, too guarded, too detached for that. All those times, back in high school he thought he was in love? That was just teenage hormones and misguided judgement.

“Granted,” Barb says, with the same air of a court appointed judge, head nodding and everything. “But still. Does Steve even know you want in his pants?”

Billy purses his lips, then shrugs. “Probably not. You know I'm not out to the frat.”

“Are you _gonna_ tell him?” Barb asks. “Or just walk around with a stiffy all Christmas break?”

And suddenly Billy feels that bite of nervousness he _always_ feels when pressed with the idea of coming out to someone. It's the same pain he feels every Thursday, when he slinks out of the Haus, off to the LGBT student club with Barb. Something he’s been doing for _years_ now.

And -- he’s just not gotten _around_ to coming out yet.

“Maybe,” Billy says. Unsure _which_ he’s _maybe_ -ing to in the first place.

He doesn't have world’s _best_ track record when it comes to coming out experiences. Sue him for being a little flighty.

Barb reaches across the table and puts a hand over his. “You don't _have to_. You know that. But Steve's a pretty great guy, even if he was a prick in high school for a while, and… I mean, he's gone through what you're going through, too. At least a little. Might be a good first step, if you choose to take it.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, swallowing down shards of something in his throat. Then, he coughs. “I did punch him in the face a few times. Usually that lends to some pretty killer grudges.”

“Please. What was that? Freshman year?” Barb scoffs. “He's over that by now, I’m sure.”

But she's smiling that coy smile that says she's a second from laughing.

“ _What_?” Billy says, annoyance prickling at him -- a welcome reprieve from the anxiety.

“Boys are just _really_ dumb,” she says. “I'm _so_ glad I'm not attracted to them.”

“Yeah, it's a real fucking burden,” Billy says, finally yanking his hand out from under hers.

Which is the exact moment that Nancy knocks on the glass wall of the study room and then pokes her head inside.

“Ready to study for Eastern Religions?”

Barb smiles, brilliant and bright, and Billy can see how much she loves her right then and there. It's painful, really.

“Yeah,” Barb says. “Come on in.”

***

The theme tonight is _spring break_. It's cold out, but Billy's got on his ugliest hawaiian shirt and there's sunglasses perched on top of his head and digging in to the backs of his ears.

The Haus’s Christmas decorations have all been put away, shoved into dark corners to make way for their more beachy ones. Tomorrow, they'll do it all over again for something Halloween themed.

Really, this is practically a charity event for the campus at large.

Even if it's _all_ an excuse to snap some pics of Steve and Billy together, like they've been dating for _months_.

Billy wasn't exactly _surprised_ when Tommy opened his big mouth and told them the plan to get Steve's shiny, rich RSVP to the ski lodge trip. He doesn't even _complain_ either, because Steve's been known the bring some of the best weed on the east coast up to the event.

And maybe a little because last year he got to watch Steve play kiss-and-blow with the fraternal Kelly twins-- Jamie and James-- in the hot tub.

But Steve's practically red to the navel as the brothers drag them both around the party, snapping pictures like the paparazzi catching a celeb on the street with no makeup on.

“This is ridiculous,” Steve tells him, voice low in his ear, arm slung over his shoulders, as _Swalla_ pounds through the Haus.

“Smile, you're on candid camera,” Billy says, leaning in to drop his mouth to Steve's neck.

He's just playing, just _pretending_ , but he's drunk enough to bite down just once, to lap his tongue over the sweat on Steve's skin.

And Steve, as Billy has come to find, responds so _beautifully_ to shit like that. Shudders and swallows and tilts his head back in a laugh that's so sweet it hurts.

Looks good on camera, too.

“This is _ridiculous_ ,” he says again, as the boys whoop and catcall, and Steve's fingers tangle in his hair. “I'm gonna be _so hungover_.”

Billy just hums.

It's _real_ hard to keep his hands to himself when he's drunk and around Steve, and while he's normally good at keeping his distance and keeping away -- he doesn't _have_ to now.

“C’mere and have some water, then,” Billy says, steering them into the kitchen to grab a glass full of cold tap water.

But Billy doesn't pass it over there -- instead, he leads them into the living room and sits down in a recliner. And Steve barely has a moment to stare at Billy in confusion before Billy's tugging him down and onto his lap, pressing the glass into his hand.

“You know I take care of my boyfriend,” Billy mumbles, lips pressed against Steve's shoulder.

There's a flash somewhere to Billy's right-- a phone camera and someone who doesn't know how to use the natural light-- and Jason Derulo is telling them to _swallow_. Billy can't help but wonder, in his drunken haze, Fireball like a steady burn at the back of his tongue, if Steve _does_.

Wouldn't be the first time.

Steve dutifully drinks down half the glass, then offers it up to Billy with a wicked glint in his eyes. He kind of regrets getting Steve into his _lap_ \-- draped over his thighs in flashy swim trunks, plastic flower leis, and glow in the dark body paint-- because Steve's holding the glass to his lips and combing his fingers through Billy's curls to coax his head back.

Billy shouldn't, he absolutely _shouldn't,_ but he does. He lets Steve tip his head back, going easy underneath those hands.

He tilts his head back and Steve presses the cup to his lips. The water is freezing against his tongue, icy as it hits the back of his throat. And yet, he's so warm, so _hot_. Sweating in his colorful shirt with Steve so close, draped over top of him like this.

Billy swallows and swallows, until there's nothing left of the drink, until Steve pats his cheek and tosses the cup to the ground.

Then, Steve leans down and kisses the water away from his lips-- a chaste, fleeting thing-- that tastes like the _jungle juice_ the boys had put together in the kitchen. He pulls back grinning, and flips off Brian as the guy tries to weasel in for a close up of them lip-locked.

Billy knows they got the pic. He _knows_ it, but he can't stop the feeling welling up that wants him to drag Steve back down into something heated, something passionate. Something he _wants_ , more than just a quick peck.

Instead, he bites that back. Tries to cool off by looking around the party.

That's how he catches a glimpse of a familiar, if not necessarily _liked_ face by the door.

“Hey, isn't that your ex boyfriend?” Billy asks, patting Steve's warm stomach with the palm of his hand.

There, by the door, is Jonathan Byers. Looking just as goddamn creepy as he did in high school.

Steve blinks, following Billy’s gaze, and Billy hadn’t noticed just how _easy_ , how _pliant_ Steve had been in his lap until he no longer is.

“God damn it,” Steve huffs, lips pursing up, like he’s swallowed something particularly fowl-- and then, _worse_ , he’s sliding right out of Billy’s lap. “I’m gonna go get another drink. You want something?”

“What, you just gonna leave me here all in my lonesome, baby?” Billy asks, but he _really_ doesn't like the way Steve's all tense now, all sour.

Steve glances back at him, brow raised, so damn haughty and looking every bit the spoiled little rich boy he likes to pretend he is. “You could always _follow_ me.”

So, Billy sits up, and then stands up, and then follows Steve into the kitchen, away from the hawklike eyes of Jonathan Byers. Billy _knows_ it probably won’t be the last of him, but it feels like a win, anyway.

“What’s his deal?” Billy asks, once they’re in the safety of the kitchen, as he watches Steve pour them both more jungle juice.

“Stalker,” Steve huffs, sipping from a red solo cup. “Total stalker.”

“What, like he’s still into you?” Billy asks. Steve gives him a _look_ , like he’s being a dick, even though he wasn’t exactly trying to be. “Okay, Harrington, you’re dreamy as hell, of _course_ he’s still into you,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “But he won’t get the message?”

“I don't _know_ ,” Steve says, nose wrinkling up. “He's just, like, _everywhere_ I go. Won't take the hint, or something.”

“Wanna give him a real big hint?” Billy says, before he can _really_ consider how _bad_ that idea is.

“Honestly, I'm open to about anything, right now,” Steve says.

It’s a _bad_ plan, Billy thinks, as he advances on Steve. It’s a _really bad_ plan, he thinks, as he scoops Steve up, as Steve gets the picture and his legs wrap around Billy’s hips.

It’s probably the _worst_ plan he’s ever had, he thinks, as he walks them over to the hallway that leads from the entryway to the kitchen -- the one Jonathan’s gonna _have_ to walk down if he wants a drink -- and then pushes Steve back up against the wall and steals his lips in a hard, bruising kiss.

Steve’s arms drape heavy over his shoulders. Billy can feel the plastic cup of his drink tap against his back from where Steve’s got in dangling from his fingers. He can feel the way Steve plays with the curls at his nape. He can feel the way Steve’s thighs _tighten_ at his waist, flexing in a strong move that pulls Billy closer into the vee of his legs.

Better, he can feel the way Steve moans and goes a little easy again. Softening like the only thing Billy ever had to do to get him to stop being a stubborn jackass was kiss him a while.

Which is unfair, really, because Billy’s _always_ daydreaming about kissing Steve. He just knows that, under regular circumstances, it would be a _shitty_ idea.

But he’s kinda drunk now, and they’re kinda _supposed_ to be doing this, and Jonathan _needs_ to get the message.

And Billy doesn’t even need to _look_ for Jonathan to know that he’s spotted them. Partially because he can feel someone’s eyes on him, and partially because Steve _must_ catch sight of him, because he tugs at Billy’s hair in a way that _means_ something. A quick _yank yank yank_ of _pay attention_ that’s a little too deliberate to be just for fun.

So Billy puts his back into it. And he _loves_ kissing, so it’s not hard to really give it his all, to lick into Steve’s mouth like he’s thirsty for it, like he hasn’t been kissed in _years_. Like he’s drowning. Like he’s dying for it.

Steve takes it all so _easily_. Adapts and angles his head a little and cradles the back of Billy’s head, fingers sinking deep into his hair, as he shifts in his arms. Presses in flush. Rubs against him, all hot skin and wet, open mouth. Uses Billy’s hold on him, secure and firm, to _rut_ against his stomach, like they might go at it right then and there.

Which makes Billy’s head swim a little. The way Steve arches off the wall to get _closer_. The way he gasps into his mouth and then pulls Billy back in for _more_. Hot like winter is a distant dream.

Camera phones flash somewhere outside of their little world. Someone hoots and hollers -- probably Tommy, it’s _always_ Tommy.

But Billy couldn’t give a shit.

He’s enjoying putting on this show, enjoying kissing Steve.

Even if he’s getting hotter and hotter by the minute, burning up from the inside out. And Steve’s not _stopping_ him. Not putting up a fuss or pulling back to laugh and tell him _I think he got the picture_.

But he does drop his drink. He does fist his hand in Billy’s hair and _pull_. He does tug until Billy’s head is craned back and his throat bare. And then he dips down, just a bit, and licks up his throat with the hot, flat of his tongue.

Billy can _hear_ the way Tommy’s making some dumbass comment, because Billy _knows_ how he looks. Knows the way he goes real easy when people tug at his hair. He’s powerless, ravenous. It’s worse that it’s Steve, honestly -- his whole body screaming _yes_ , _yes more,_ as loud as it can.

His fingers tighten in Steve’s shirt and he grunts, eyes half shut, view of the ceiling blurred and unimportant. Not worth the attention, not with Steve’s tongue on his neck.

Not with the way Steve’s perfect pearly whites bite _down_.

He doesn’t mean to shove himself so thoroughly against Steve when he does that. Pressing him _hard_ against the wall, groaning, and turning to hide his face in Steve’s hair.

But then Steve’s soothing over the bite with his tongue again. Placing his open mouth there to _suck_ like he intends to leave a _bruise_.

Someone shouts “get a room!” before he can get quite that far.

 _That’s_ what gets Billy to pull back, to try to regain his breath, his composure.

Steve’s fingers immediately loosen in his hair, and while Billy licks his lips, Steve’s got a sheepish expression on his very red face. He doesn’t looked _ashamed_ , exactly, just-- maybe a little _embarrassed_. Like he hadn’t meant to let it go that far.

Which bites, in the worst way, sharp and sudden. But when Billy goes to pull away, to set him down, Steve locks his legs around him.

“Uh,” he says, the tips of his _ears_ red. “You know, maybe they’ve got, like, a _point_.”

Billy maybe thinks Jonathan is still there, _watching_ ; Billy honestly wouldn’t put it past him. Bets he probably is, just lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Billy grunts. He pushes off the wall, still holding Steve, and then starts climbing the stairs up to his room. It’s not easy, carrying Steve with him, but eventually they get away from all the noise as Billy slams the door behind them and dumps Steve down into his bed, feeling hot all over and yet a little clammy, too.

Steve bounces on his bed, and huffs, flopping back against the mattress. He’s flush and his mouth is red, lips swollen, and it might’ve been the worst idea _ever_ to bring Steve into his room looking like that.

“Thanks,” Steve breathes, chest rising and falling, arm draped over his eyes.

Billy does _not_ get into bed with Steve. Instead, he sits down at his desk chair, flopping back and rolling slightly. He’s _dizzy_. Hot. And now worked up as hell.

“Anytime, pretty boy,” Billy says, unsure, exactly what, he means that in response to.

Steve snorts but doesn't look at him. “Been a while since you called me _that_.”

High school. That was Billy’s _favorite_ name for Steve, back when they were pushing each other around on the basketball court. He killed it, freshman year, while they rushed together. It felt out of place, strange. A little _too_ familiar. A little too close to home.

“Old habits,” Billy says, and shrugs.

“Funny,” Steve says. “I was thinking the same damn thing.”

But Billy's got no idea what habit he's talking about.

Steve sighs and sits up before he can ask. Scrubs a hand over his face and offers a crooked grin Billy's way.

“Sorry about biting you,” he says. “Got a little carried away.”

“Thanks, Dracula,” Billy says, palming at his neck. His skin’s still hot to the touch. “Think you gave me a _hickey_.”

“You should put it on Instagram.” Steve says. “Bet they'd eat that shit up.”

“ _Here’s my hickey courtesy of Steve Harrington_?” Billy asks with a laugh, a little incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Steve laughs. “Just the hickey, part. You don't have to say who it's from.”

“I don’t post about my _slut life_ on the ‘gram,” Billy says.

Which is -- only partially true. Sometimes he _does_ post a story for, like, an _hour_ , tops, about getting lucky. Or, occasionally, he’ll throw down something a little risque.

But he knows Steve watches his story, even if it’s only up for a few minutes, and knows he’s seen some incriminating shit.

Not that Steve has room to _talk_. Billy's seen the shit he posts. The shit he doesn't even bother to _hide_.

“That's one thing I miss about Byers,” Steve admits. “That shit was always so fucking _tasteful_.”

Billy thinks he knows what he's talking about. There was a period where all of Steve's posts were, like, _artful nudes_.

They’re all deleted now -- _not_ that Billy scrolled back looking for them one day -- but he knows Steve probably still _has_ them.

“You want me to go find him?” Billy says, a little playful. “I’m sure he could do a photoshoot for you. Right here.”

Steve's nose wrinkles up. “Gross, no. I am _not_ his _muse_ anymore.”

Billy just laughs. It’s not like Billy _actually_ wants Jonathan to come _into_ his room to photograph Steve, but it’s a funny thought, still.

“Another time. Unless you want _me_ to snap some _artful nudes_ of you,” Billy says, before he can even really think about it.

“Careful,” Steve says. “I might take you up on that.”

“I mean, I’m a great fucking photographer,” Billy says.

Which means he’s _great_ at taking dick pics and snapshots of himself in the mirror.

Steve snorts. “Uh huh. A regular fine arts major.”

Billy picks up a dirty shirt from the ground and chucks it at Steve’s head.

“We can’t all be as _dreamy_ as Jonathan Byers.”

Steve tosses his shirt back at him, laughing. “I promise, if anything, you can at least go to sleep tonight knowing that five minutes ago you kissed me better than he ever did-- and I dated him for, like, six months.”

“Six fucking _months_?” Billy says, before he can really even process the _other_ chunk of what Steve said.

When he does, the words leave him a little warm. A little proud.

“It's either long term or one night,” Steve shrugs. “I don't have an in between.”

“Yeah?” Billy says. And it feels like a thread he wants to pull at, like maybe Steve’s offering him something -- or maybe Billy’s just found a vulnerability. Which is why he says: “I don’t do long term.”

Even though Steve probably _knows_ that.

“Pretty sure you’ve mentioned that,” Steve says, plucking at a thread on Billy’s comforter-- he does that, finds things to keep his hands busy-- Billy remembers the time he came back from mid-terms and Steve had three of the brothers in the kitchen watching _slime_ tutorials. “Why not? I mean, besides the fact that you’re kind of an asshole.”

It’s an insult, but Steve doesn’t say it like it’s one. Says it with that crooked smile, lips still red and kiss-swollen, and it’s _awful_.

Billy’s probably going to die tonight.

Barb’s going to get ‘ _Told You So,’_ engraved right onto his tombstone.

“Pretty much just that,” Billy says, because it’s kind of the truth. It’s also kind of _not_ , and he knows his tone implies that, but doesn’t care enough to change it. To say something else to cement it in Steve’s head.

Steve hums and nods. “Does that suck?”

Billy just shrugs. “The sex is good.”

Which -- it is.

But the _thing is_ \-- sure, it’s a big campus. But the gay community in it is only so large. There’s no possible way for Billy to sleep with someone new every time. So -- Billy’s got fuckbuddies, basically. People he can go to for no-strings-attached sex. He tries to spread it out, to live a little, especially when someone new comes to town. But there’s only so many people in the area.

It gets a little weird, sometimes.

Steve nods like he _understands_. Like he _gets it_. When honestly, Steve can get it _anywhere_ from _whoever_ he wants. So, he _doesn't_ get it. Not really.

“I guess good sex is a good enough reason,” Steve says.

“ _Still_ wouldn’t sleep with someone as creepy as Jonathan Byers, so,” Billy says. “I guess having taste pays off.”

But he grins, so Steve doesn’t think he’s being _too_ much of an ass.

“He wasn’t _always_ a total creep,” Steve says, still plucking at that stupid thread, like he might try and unravel Billy’s blanket, and then he throws Billy’s words right back at him. “Besides, the sex was good.”

“Uh huh. If, like heroin-chic is your _vibe_ ,” Billy says, trying to ignore the dig.

“Not _exactly_. More like _stoner-chic_. And a really interesting time with coke, once.” Steve says, and Billy can't tell if he's _serious_ or not.

Because, like, _that_ is a vibe. Steve high out of his mind is, by far, one of Billy's favorite things. He gets giggly when they hotbox his car. Grabby. _Affectionate_. Billy's seen it.

And Steve high during _sex_? Is kind of the thing wet dreams are made of.

“Not e?” Billy finds himself asking, because he’s curious.

Steve shakes his head. “Not with _him_.”

“Yeah? But with other people?”

Billy’s halfway across the room and away from his bedside table. Steve’s right next to it.

“There’s a blunt in there,” Billy says, nodding to the sad excuse for a table next to his bed. There’s a drawer, at least. A place he keeps his weed, lube, and condoms.

“Careful,” Steve says, already going for it. “I might _actually_ think you like me for more than my dad's money.”

He pulls it out and digs around for a lighter; if he pauses on anything else in there, it doesn't show.

“You mind if I start it?” Steve asks.

Billy just huffs and nods. He knows better to argue, to try and deny it.

It’s fundamentally _stupid_ that he hasn’t told Steve he likes guys, but it feels even _weirder_ to tell him now. Now that they’ve made out, now he’s got Steve in his bed.

Because _sure_ , Billy’s got the rep of being a pushy frat brother, but he’s _not_ like that.

And the worst thing that could happen is that Steve feels betrayed. And it ruins everything Billy has fought to build up from ground level. From _underground_ , honestly. Because while they both were assholes to each other in the past, Billy’s behavior really takes the cake.

So, he watches Steve light up the blunt and draw on the other end until it burns just right. Watches him pull long and slow, hold it, and then breathe out in one long breath. Watches him roll his head, his shoulders, and relax.

Getting into the right headspace. He's seen Steve do that before, too.

Otherwise, Tommy has told him, Steve gets so paranoid that he works himself into a panic.

“That's good,” Steve says and holds out the blunt for him.

“I’ve got good taste,” Billy says, scooting forward his desk chair until he’s close enough to grab it.

“Debatable.”

“I’m spending time with you,” Billy says. “Or are you trying to argue that you’re a bad decision?”

It’s a compliment, coming from Billy. Kinda.

“The _worst_ decision,” Steve says, like it’s a promise, grinning as he take the blunt when Billy passes it back, drawing on it, eyes bright.

And Billy can’t help it. He laughs. Like a goddamn lunatic. He’s not even feeling it yet, but it’s so fucking _funny_ , because _Barb_ said the exact same fucking thing.

And Steve and Barb? Not exactly two people who usually see eye to eye.

Steve’s chuckling a little, too, as he hands back the joint. He's got a curious little wrinkle between his brows, his nose scrunched up a bit, like he's not sure what's so funny but he's laughing anyway.

“Just wait until daddy Harrington tells you I’m the bad decision,” Billy says, even though he knows how to come across as charming to parents -- if he _wants_ to.

“You've got a dick,” Steve says. “He'll hate you on sight.”

“But like, he’ll _pretend_ not to. He has his rep, right?”

Besides, even if Mr. Harrington is _openly_ disdainful, nothing’s really as bad as Billy going home for Christmas, where Neil Hargrove, certified bigot, _knows_ Billy’s gay and hates him for it.

“Yeah,” Steve says, shrugging, then standing, then stretching. “But, like, he's _really bad_ at pretending. So. Just be aware of that, I guess.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “Is he gonna slug me?”

“ _God_ , no.” Steve huffs, arms dropping, giving him a look like he’s startled Billy would even _ask_ \-- and then blinking and clearing his throat, looking a little like maybe he should’ve _expected_ Billy to ask. “He’s just… kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, I think I can deal with _kinda an asshole_ ,” Billy says with a laugh. “But you are too, and you're my fucking _sweetheart_ , so.”

Steve’s nose scrunches up. “Yeah, _okay_ , maybe you’ll get along then.”

“I wouldn't go _that_ far.” But Billy then leers, because he's good at that. Because he's drunk as hell and he shouldn't push the envelope with a lie he knows he can't keep up for _forever_ , but. “I could get along real nice with your mom, though.”

Steve snorts, indelicate and crude, rolling his eyes, too. “Yeah, I’m sure she’d like that. Tell me if she remembers your name, after.”

“They always do,” Billy says. “Now hurry up. You're hogging all the weed, pretty boy.”

***

The parties honestly wear Billy a little thin.

By the time they're done, by the time Steve and he are sitting on the floor of Steve's room with a little pocket printer and both of their instagrams and facebooks open, he’s _exhausted_.

It doesn't have to be perfect, they agreed. It's not like Steve's parents are going to go back and _date_ all of their pics. But it’s worth it to shove a photo album together on Steve's facebook called “ _Billy <3”_ so that Steve’s mom can facebook stalk, but badly, and it's worth it to print out a pic of the two of them for Billy to tuck into the visor of the Camaro, the car they'll be taking back to the Harrington's together.

“What about this one?” Billy asks, not even sure what Steve's _looking_ for at this point.

He tosses a printed out picture onto Steve's lap and recognizes it as the night they both made out to prove something to Byers. Or -- whatever.

Steve glances at it, plucks it up, and his dark eyes meet Billy’s across the edge. “You _would_ have this one in your car.”

It almost sounds like an insult.

“No, I think I'd be way more likely to have _this_ one in his car,” Billy says, and fishes his phone out to thumb through some of the shit Jordan put in the shared dropbox folder.

He looks at it for a second, admiring the way Billy and Steve are kinda leaning against each other, sweaty and drunk as hell and covered in glitter. Billy's hand is halfway down the back of Steve's pants and they both look a second from passing out.

He doesn't even _remember_ this one.

“See?” Billy says, thrusting the phone into Steve's hands.

Steve laughs a little at it, zooming in on their faces, his grin crooked. “We look ten kinds of cross faded. I think we _were_ ten kinds of cross faded.”

“Do you even remember this?” Billy says.

If he thinks _really_ hard, he can imagine the warmth of Steve's lower back on his palm. But that could just be his rather _active_ imagination.

“Honestly?” Steve asks. “No. It's been a _long_ week.”

Billy chuckles.

At least it's not just him.

“So. Think this one should go in my car? Or my wallet?”

Steve squints at it. “Car. You need something… I dunno, sweeter? For your wallet, I mean.”

“Because I'm so in love?” Billy says, grinning. “Pick something for me then, baby. Make it cute.”

“That's the problem,” Steve says, thumbing through their pictures, lips pursed like this is actually _important_. “I don't think we've got the right kind of picture in here. It's all just parties and shit.”

Billy frowns. “I mean, do you think your rents are going to be going through my wallet? Or are you fishing for a profile picture with my face in it?”

“Oh, I've already got one in mind for that,” Steve says, waving a hand. “But, I mean, a wallet photo is like… _serious._ ”

“Okay, so what are you suggesting?”

Steve huffs out a little breath, glancing around his room for a moment, and then un-crosses his legs and pushes to his feet. He pads over to his bed and plops down; then, he pats the spot next to him.

“C’mere,” he says, stripping off his shirt while he does.

And Billy is _tired_.

He doesn’t exactly have the mental strength to say no.

“If I lie down, I’m gonna pass out,” Billy says, but he strips off his shirt anyway and follows Steve to the bed, sliding in next to him like he belongs there.

Steve huffs again, laying back against the pillows and twisting a bit to dig his phone out of his back pocket. He spreads his arms out, stretching a little, like he’s making _space_ for Billy.

“Okay,” Steve says, a little pink in the face, wetting his lips. “Now, lay your head, like, on my arm. Like we’re cuddling.”

“ _Like we’re cuddling_ ,” Billy parrots. “You just wanna fucking cuddle, Harrington.”

Because, when Billy actually moves himself, twisting and falling back against the bed, when he settles himself in the crook of Steve’s arm -- they _are_ cuddling. Even if it’s just for a picture.

“Shouldn’t you be leaning on _me_?” Billy asks. “That’s way more believable.”

“You wanna do it that way?” Steve asks, but he’s already frowning at his camera focused on them, and his arm is curling under Billy’s head to catch a few of Billy’s stray curls, _stylishly_ pushing them out of his face as he wiggles a little closer.

But Billy doesn’t really _move_. Because Steve’s warm, because his arm is oddly comfortable, because he’s so goddamn _tired_.

“Just take the picture, Harrington,” he says, eyes closing for just a second. While Harrington fucking _situates_ them.

Billy _feels_ more than _hears_ Steve sigh. He feels his chest rise and then fall; he feels him press in flush. He hears the shutter on Steve’s photo app go off. But then he hears Steve click his tongue and the next thing he feels is Steve’s lips pressed to his brow.

The shutter goes off again, but Steve lingers there.

“Oh,” he says; Billy can _hear_ his dopey smile. “That’s a good one.”

Billy feels _warm_. He feels tired.

He _wants_ to ask to see it, but suddenly he can’t even really bring himself to consider the harsh reality of prying his eyes back open.

So he just grunts. If Steve’s not telling him to open his eyes, he’s not gonna. It’s totally unnecessary.

“You want another?” Steve asks, breath warm as it scatters across his forehead.

“Figured you’d take a bunch,” Billy says, mumbling into the meat of Steve’s arm. Drifting, a little.

“I could,” Steve says, voice a bit softer. “That one was really good, though. You want more options?”

And Billy doesn’t wanna _move_. So he’s saying, “Sure,” before he can stop himself.

“Okay,” Steve says.

Billy hears the sound of the shutter a few more times and then not at all.

Then, Steve's hand is on his wrist, pulling Billy's arm across him. He hears Steve grunt and the phone go off at least one more time until it all gets kinda _fuzzy_.

Until all he can really feel is the way Steve's chest rises and falls. The way the warmth slips in right through his skin. The way he feels _good_ , like never before.

Until he feels -- nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- obviously billy is incorrect about his views on bisexuality, but he's also billy hargrove, who is known to have some Bad Opinions  
> \- look, we both love jonathan byers. he's great, he's fun, he's a good character. but we decided to make him creepy anyway. this isn't an attack on his character, just an opportunity for some shenanigans.


	3. just hear those sleigh bells jingling (you're in deep shit, my dude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _god love him, billy hargrove lives his life on analog._

Steve knows when Billy falls asleep, but he doesn't know when _he_ does, too.

He doesn't mean to. But Billy's snoring and Steve's got a playlist going, low enough not to wake him, but loud enough to drown out Jaron’s Christmas playlist, and then he's blinking awake, like, an _hour_ later.

Billy's still crashed, but in their sleep, he's pulled Steve closer and tucked his face against Steve's throat as he snores.

It should be annoying as hell that he snores, but Steve's always been decent about filtering out known noise. So.

It's kind of cute.

Which isn't great.

It's also not great that Billy sleeps like he can't get enough touch, like he's starved for it. Which is -- kinda strange, really. Because Billy gets a _lot_ , as far as Steve knows.

He thinks he should probably pry himself free. But when he finally tries, that arm he pulled around himself earlier tightens at his waist and keeps him still under Billy's weight.

Steve kinda hates how much he likes that. How much the weight of him is _comforting_. How much he doesn't _mind it_ , like, _at all_ , despite the fact that usually he's all sweaty at the end of an up-close nap like this.

In his sleep, Billy grumbles.

For a hot second, Steve worries he might wake up and make shit _weird_. Might bluster and do the whole _no homo_ routine he's seen from a bunch of his bros.

Even though he's never _really_ seen Billy pull that.

But he doesn't really want to start. Doesn't want to see Billy get like that.

It's a concern that sits heavy in his stomach, still hazy with sleep.

When Billy says “quit squirming” against the skin of his neck, Steve’s really not expecting it.

He goes still, anyways, breathing out deliberately slow. “Sorry,” he says.

Billy doesn't pull away. He doesn't say something mean.

Instead, he just says. “Let's skip Christmas and sleep for a million years.”

Steve laughs a little, kind of _astounded_ for at least a full second, and then he lets his neck and shoulders relax as he settles. “Yeah, _okay_ , like Tommy isn’t gonna burst in and wake our asses up for dinner in, like, _five minutes_.”

“Tommy can go fuck himself,” Billy says.

And then, only a minute later, Steve is graced with the sound of Billy's snoring, once more.

Steve didn't imagine anything like this happening when Billy agreed to be his fake boyfriend for the holidays. The date was one thing, and the pictures another-- no matter how awkward it had been, at first, the brothers coaxing and coaching them into more and more appallingly suggestive poses-- but this, Billy curled into his side and half on top of him, _asleep,_ is nothing he would've expected.

Ever.

It's kind of a lot to take in, but the slow beat of his _chillax, brother_ playlist and his own comforted haze, lulls him into a half sleep.

It's _nice._

That is, until Tommy fucking Hill wakes them both up with an air horn.

Loud.

Deafening, really.

Steve feels Billy's heat jerk away. He hears him grunt.

Then, hears the _thud_ of Billy hitting the ground.

Tommy's laughing as Steve sits up, laughing as he hurls a pillow at him, laughing as he slams the door behind him. Still laughing, even as he calls through the door.

“Grub’s on, _lovebirds_!” he cackles.

Steve huffs. “What a _dick_.”

Billy's legs are still on the bed. Tangled up in Steve's sheets.

He groans again.

Crawling over, Steve peers down at him over the edge of the bed. He has to bite down _hard_ on the inside of his cheek.

“You okay?” he asks, but can't quite keep the laughter out of his voice.

“Oh fuck you,” Billy says, but he doesn't really make a move to get up. He just groans and then _stretches_.

And Steve can't help the way he watches Billy's chest ripple with the way he moves. Because his body's, like, _perfect_.

Steve would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it more than once. All that tan skin; the muscle. Billy's built like a fucking brick house.

It's only gotten worse since he picked Steve up like it was _nothing_ and kissed him breathless against a wall _just to make Jonathan Byers jealous._ Steve was pretty sure he could've come in his pants, right then and there, if they'd kept going.

Thank fuck for drugs and alcohol.

“I mean, we don't really have _time_ for that, like, _right now_ ,” Steve says, before he can stop himself.

“What, you need me to like, sweet talk you for forever?” Billy says.

But he's already pulling his legs down from the bed and searching the floor for his shirt. In the dim light of the room, he grabs Steve's instead. It's only apparent when its _fully on_ that Billy makes a face.

Steve watches him from the bed and kinda _digs_ how that looks on him-- tight across the shoulders and chest, but _long_ \-- and sometimes Steve forgets _he's_ the taller one. Billy just has that _presence_.

“Nah,” Steve says, grinning, laying back against the pillows. “It's just that if we don't head down in five minutes, Tommy will come bust my door down-- and five minutes isn't long enough for a proper fuck.”

“I guess you're right for _once_ ,” Billy says.

And tosses Steve a shirt. Billy's shirt.

“Do you care? I'm feeling lazy,” Billy says.

“No,” Steve shrugs and then shrugs it over his head; it still has the faint scent of Billy's cologne, kind of rich, maybe a little spicy.

Like wood smoke.

“Besides,” Steve says, pushing out of bed, faltering only long enough to twist around and make it halfway presentable; hard habits from living with a mother who would drag him home from school to make his bed if he left it a mess in the morning. “Bet the guys wanna get us, like, eating spaghetti _Lady and the Tramp_ style, honestly.”

“Probably,” Billy says.

He's a little stiff when he stands, stretching like he's sore. Like he's still waking up.

“You really conked out,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Billy says. And maybe, for a moment, he looks a little _red._ But the rooms dark and then Steve looks away. “Guess so.”

“S'okay,” Steve says. “Partying all week isn't easy.”

“Look it's _hard_ to keep up the image of partying non-stop. I gotta sleep _sometimes_.”

It's the closest Steve has ever heard to Billy admitting he's human. It's also damn close to an apology, too. An _I'm sorry I fell asleep on you_ , which -- Steve isn't sure how to feel about.

“I'm not, like, _mad_.” Steve tells him. “It was kinda _nice_ , honestly. I usually have-- I mean, it was _chill_ , okay?”

“I don't really --” Billy says, and then waves his hand around in the air. “Uh. Do that.”

Because Billy Hargrove doesn't say _cuddle_.

“Well, get used to it,” Steve says, thumping him on the chest as he walks by toward his door. “Because I definitely do.”

“ _Perfect_ ,” Steve hears Billy mumble behind him, as he pushes his way through the door and down the hall.

***

There’s an orange glow from the street lights outside of the library. Steve’s squinting at his textbook, tapping his pen against the small desk squirreled away at the back of the third floor for studying.

He’s got an essay on Michelangelo due in two days, and he’s barely got an outline done.

So, when Jonathan Byers sits down at the desk across from him, Steve’s not exactly _happy_. Tries to ignore him, and everything.

It doesn't work very well because Jonathan just clears his throat and tugs his textbook over, peering at pictures of the Sistine Chapel with something a _lot_ like disdain. Steve sighs, head falling back, as he swallows down his irritation.

“The textbook doesn’t do it justice,” Jonathan says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Is there a point to you interrupting me?”

“I just wanted to say _hey_ ,” Jonathan says. Even though he clearly didn't _just_ want that.

Because Steve's made it pretty damn clear he's not interested in saying _hey_ , like, at all. Ever.

“Uh huh,” Steve says and drags his book out of Jonathan's clutches. “ _Hey_.”

“So,” Jonathan says, not even bothering to keep up the pretense. “Billy Hargrove, huh? I didn't think you were into straight guys.”

Steve bristles. He taps his pen a little faster.

“You don't have a lot of room to _talk_ ,” Steve says; and Jonathan doesn't.

_He_ was straight and dating Nancy when they hooked up the first time. Maybe call it a bad habit; Steve likes a challenge.

“Well, I don’t _no-homo_ around a frat in my spare time,” Jonathan says.

Steve scoffs. “Are you seriously trying to _slut shame_ me, right now? For making out with my _boyfriend_? There's a whole lot of _homo_ going around; hold the _no_.”

Jonathan just makes a face, clearly unperturbed. “I'm just saying. He doesn't exactly seem like your _type_. I bet he's too much of a macho guy to put his mouth on your dick, too. Am I right?”

“Not that my sex life is _any_ of your business, but you're _wrong_.” Steve says, a flush burning at his cheeks, and he can't help but defend Billy, no matter how _fake_ the relationship is. “It's one of his favorite things, right next to eating me out until I scream.”

Jonathan's eyebrows raise. “Closet case like him? Can't picture it.” But Jonathan's a little red anyway, like he _believes_ Steve.

Like he's jealous.

“Good thing I'm not asking you to.” Steve says. “Don't you have an elsewhere to be?”

“Nowhere I’d rather be than next to you, Steve,” Jonathan says.

Steve wonders how much trouble he’d get in he channeled his high school self and just decked Jonathan right in the face.

“Well, I have shit to do,” Steve says, pointedly spreading his hands over the work in front of him. “So, if you could, like, fuck off? That would be stellar.”

“I’m happy to keep you company,” Jonathan says.

Steve bites back a _I don't want your company_ , tonguing the words behind his teeth like bitter chalk. He focuses back on his textbook instead and pulls up his messages on his Macbook, offering a tight smile as Jonathan settles in.

Steve is tempted to message Tommy, first. Then, he spots Billy's name at the top of his contacts from when they’d been texting earlier, arguing about the best workout music.

He types out a quick _SOS, need an assist_ , and then drops his location to him.

_lol where r u at, what floor?_ Billy says.

_Third floor. Study tables. Tell me you look really dtf today._

_always_ , Billy says.

And then, before Steve can even think to _say_ anything to Jonathan, who’s just kind of staring at him over his computer screen, he feels arms slide around his shoulders. Feels the heat of someone pressing up behind him. Feels lips at his ear.

“Hey baby,” Billy’s voice says in his ear. “Come here often?”

And _jesus_ that was impossibly fast.

Steve goes warm, all over and suddenly, heart tripping over itself. But he smiles and tips back into him, craning his head a little.

“Just studying,” he says. “I didn't know you were here?”

“Yup,” Billy says, but he doesn't elaborate. Instead, he just presses a kiss to the spot right under Steve's ear.

“Jesus,” says a familiar voice to Steve's right.

When he looks, it's Barb Holland.

And: _what?_

“We were gonna get some food. You wanna come, baby?” Billy says.

“I'm _starving_ ,” Steve says, giving Barb a _funny_ look, pushing to his feet and gathering up his things. “Sorry, Johnny, guess our unprompted study sesh is canceled.”

Billy gets Steve's bag, after he packs everything away, and before he can even think about it, they're out of the library and walking down campus walk toward one of the little cafes.

Billy's arm is still around Steve's shoulder, and Barb is still on Billy's other side.

Steve keeps glancing back at the library, like he's expecting Jonathan to follow. He presses in close to Billy's side and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek as he smiles.

“I could fucking _blow you_ , right now.” Steve says, and thinks it might be too much, but Barb is snorting and trying to hide it.

“Please _don’t_ ,” Barb says. “Are we actually going to get food, or are you going to leave me to eat alone.”

Billy makes an affronted noise as his fingers curl around Steve’s waist. “I would _never_ leave you to eat alone.”

And this? Barb and Billy talking like they’re _friends?_ It’s weird as hell.

“I don't wanna crash your outing,” Steve says, frowning a little as he glances between them. “I just needed a rescue. I can bail if I'm gonna cramp your style.”

“You’re here now, it would be even weirder if you _left_ ,” Barb says.

Which, does, kinda, imply that she thinks its weird that Steve is here.

But he doesn’t get a chance to argue, really, because Billy’s guiding him into what Steve _knows_ is Billy’s favorite places on campus to eat.

“I would never deprive you of my company,” Billy says. “Besides, I want one of those super green salads they’ve got on this week.”

“I owe you,” Steve says, quick to get out his wallet. “I'll pay. For both of you. What do you want, Barb?”

“Soup and sandwich combo,” she says, not even bothering to try and argue about Steve paying. Her eyes dart to the board above the cashier and then she says, “Grilled cheese and soup of the day.”

“You don’t have to pay for me,” Billy says, _finally_ taking his arm back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll get a table while you two have your little _lovers quarrel_ ,” Barb says.

So she knows, probably, Steve thinks. He watches her walk off, and then turns back to Billy.

“Let me,” Steve says. “You've saved me from pale and creepy _twice_ , now.”

“Okay,” Billy says, after a moment of consideration. Like somehow extorting cash out of Steve’s parents is _fine_ , but taking money from Steve somehow _isn’t._ “Salad of the week,” he says, to the cashier, once they’ve ordered Barb’s food and a round of coffees.

Steve tacks on a grilled cheese and a tomato bisque for himself and then shells out the cash. He smiles sweet at the person behind the register, plucks up the little sign for their table with their order number on it, and turns back to Billy.

“You sure I'm not crashing the party?” Steve asks.

“Nah, we were just finishing up studying,” Billy says. “Food was in the future, anyway.”

“No wonder you got there so quick,” Steve says, letting Billy guide him toward a table at the back. “You were studying with Barb?”

“Yeah,” Billy says with a shrug. “We study, like, four times a week?”

“Huh,” Steve says. “I didn't know you guys, like, even _knew_ each other.”

Another shrug and Billy starts leading the way over to the table Barb’s picked. In the corner, by the window. “There’s a lot of shit you don’t know about me, Harrington.”

“That almost sounds like an invitation,” Steve says, sliding into the seat across from Barb and giving her a smile.

Billy makes some sort of suggestive face at Steve and Barb rolls her eyes.

“Aren’t you just playing this whole thing up for _Christmas_ , Hargrove?” she says. “You’ve still got a few days left of school.”

“It's gotta look legit,” Steve offers, glancing at Billy, and then back at Barb. “Gotta learn to not be at each other's throats. My parents are stupid, but they're not morons.”

Billy just shrugs.

Barb rolls her eyes. “I think you'll be okay.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, grinning wide, nudging his shoulder into Billy's. “Hear that? We're _okay_. And that's from _Barbara_. That's practically a bullet proof seal of approval.”

“Jesus,” Barb says again. “You guys are such idiots.”

But she doesn't say it's gonna fail spectacularly, so that's clearly a win.

Steve beams at Billy, and then at Barb. She rolls her eyes again.

“So, I didn't know you guys, like, _knew_ each other.” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Billy says, flashing a smile at the person who brings them their food and takes away their number. “We took our freshman seminar together.”

“Huh,” Steve says. “I didn’t know that.”

“You're clearly not the Billy Hargrove expert at the table,” Barb says. Then, she makes a face. “Does that make that me? I don't want that title.”

“I am a _delight_ ,” Billy says.

“You’re a _pain_ ,” Steve tells him, sliding his soup close and tearing off a strip of grilled cheese to dunk it.

“But a painful _delight_ ,” Billy says. “Some people are into that kinda thing, you know.”

Barb makes a grossed out sound, but grabs her food anyway. So does Billy, digging in like he's starving.

It's kinda _weird_ , but it's not _bad_ , sitting with Billy and Barb, who are apparently not just _study buddies_ , but actually seem to be _friends_.

Which is kinda absurd, because Billy? Doesn't exactly seem like the kinda person Barb really would choose to hang out with. But she does. Which means that there's clearly some side, somewhere, to Billy, that Steve doesn't often see.

It's illuminating, really.

But kinda mysterious, too.

***

Exam week passes in a blur.

Steve spends pretty much every waking hour studying or eating or running at the gym, just trying to make it through the week. Nancy always tells him that cramming isn't actually a viable way of _learning_ , but it doesn't really matter. Steve doesn't give a shit about learning right now, he gives a shit about passing his classes. That's all.

He doesn't see much of Billy, either, which kinda sucks. He had gotten _used_ to Billy being around, suddenly, always up in his space. In fact, he sees even less of Billy than _usual_ , because Billy's _also_ spending all his time studying. But probably not cramming, because he already _knows_ all of the shit he's supposed to learn. He's just weirdly obsessed with getting straight A’s.

It's only after Steve's last final and a like thirteen hour night’s sleep that he finally gets some time with Billy. And that's only because they get to share a car on the way to Steve's parents’ house.

“So, you told them I was coming?” Billy asks, throwing his bag into the trunk.

“Uh huh,” Steve says.

He hasn't had any coffee, yet, and they're up early to beat the traffic and the snow. He's pretty monosyllabic in the mornings.

“You told them I'm a dude?” Billy asks, tossing in Steve's bag as well.

The guy’s actually pretty chipper in the mornings. Maybe because he gets up before the sun and goes to the gym. It's _annoying_.

“Uh,” Steve pauses, nose scrunching up. “Totally.”

He's kinda busy watching Billy load up his car. It's a nice thing to watch.

The muscles in his back kinda ripple. It helps that he's still walking around in a plain henley, even though it's December. But Billy runs hot, as Billy always likes to remind him. And he's also still glowing a little from his post gym shower, so.

The shirt clings nicely to his body, is all Steve's noticing.

“Hey,” Billy says, suddenly up in Steve's face. “Earth to Harrington. I asked if you wanted to stop by Starbucks on the way out of town.”

Steve blinks a few times.

“ _God_ , yes.” Steve says, grabbing at Billy and pulling him toward his car. “I need a triple espresso, like, _yesterday_.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

At this time of day, Starbucks isn't bad, but Billy orders through the app anyway. Steve punches in his order and then Billy gets a juniper latte with coconut milk, which, when it arrives, Steve takes one sip of and nearly spits out.

“This tastes like gin.”

“Uh, _yeah?_ ” Billy says. “It's wintery.”

“You're disgusting,” Steve says.

“You have an _unrefined_ _palate,_ ” Billy informs him.

“I have a palate that likes _coffee_ ,” Steve replies, cradling his own drink close.

“Coffee and _sugar_ ,” Billy says, like his drink isn’t sugary as hell, too. He even licks his lips as Steve watches him, and then starts up the car. It rumbles underneath Steve. “Siri, which way to my rich in-laws?” Billy asks.

“Don't even _joke_ ,” Steve says. “My dad'll have a _stroke,_ I _swear_.”

“Okay, fine,” Billy says. “But just because I don’t want them to scrimp on the cash. There’s always next year.”

Steve snorts out a soft laugh and steals Billy's phone, tapping out his address into the GPS.

The drive isn’t a bad one, honestly. Billy’s pretty decent car-company and he’s good at keeping up a running dialog, but also knows when to cool it sometimes, just to give Steve a chance to relax. He even, after a while, lets Steve choose the music.

“ _Eight track tapes?”_ Steve asks as he flips through the collection in Billy's glove box. “I love how totally carbon dated you are.”

“Would you like to pay to replace the sound system in my car? Because I’m taking offers.”

Though, as much as Billy jokes about it, Steve knows that he probably _wouldn’t_ let Steve do that. If he was feeling charitable, or whatever. He doesn’t like accepting charity. But he apparently sees pretty much zero problem in trying to get cash out of Steve’s parents. Which is -- something.

“I'm not _complaining,_ ” Steve says, rolling his eyes as he thumbs past the frankly _concerning_ amount of _Metallica_. “It's just _funny_. Like, you're such a social media slut but your car is straight out of ancient times.”

“There’s a cassette adaptor in there too, if you wanna play something off your phone.”

Well, that explains how they were listening to the Weeknd the other day.

“I dunno,” Steve says, plucking out a tape and waggling it at Billy. “I kinda dig the mixtape vibe. You make this one after a bad breakup?”

He's grinning at Billy's pinched expression. There's a neat scrawl of songs on the side of the box for this one-- _Bowie_ and _Fleetwood Mac_ are featured a choice of times-- and Steve knows Billy's handwriting, even as cramped as it is here.

But Billy doesn’t say anything _mean_ or pull out a joke like Steve thought he might. Instead, he finally just shrugs, like he’s admitting defeat, and says: “Look, we all have our regrets, alright? I used to make a lot of mixtapes.”

Steve can't help but jump on that, stuffing the tape into the player, clicking his tongue as Stevie Nicks starts crooning.

“Do you _still_?” he asks. “Like, if I hunted down your Spotify, what kinda playlists would I be finding?”

“Ugh,” Billy says, and it kinda _does_ sound like a playlist he might’ve made while going through a breakup, and _that’s_ a lot to process, to wrap his head around. “Sure. Everyone makes playlists on Spotify though, Harrington.”

“Yeah, but mine are like general _vibes_ , you know?” Steve says, leaning his head back, drumming his fingers in his lap. “Like, _I'm getting fucked up tonight_ \-- or, better, _I'm getting fucked tonight_. Not person specific.”

“And mine _are_?” Billy asks. “Bold fucking assumption, pretty boy.”

Steve taps the cassette case, brow up. “There's some initials with a heart around it, here, my man.”

This time, Billy grunts instead of groans.

“You don’t know me, get out of my _face_.”

“Nah, I kinda _like_ giving you the third degree.” Steve says, beaming. “C'mon, spill. Who you got in your playlist history? You got one for me, yet?”

“Bunch of exes,” Billy says, shoulders shrugging again like he doesn’t _care_ , but Steve knows he’s now on guard. It’s in the little things, like the set of his shoulders, the way his hands grip the wheel. “Sure, I’ve got one for you,” Billy says. “It’s called _snotty rich kid who won’t get off my ass._ ”

“Rolls right off the tongue,” Steve says. “What's on it?”

“A lot of Chromeo. Nicki Minaj.” Billy changes lanes. “Some Daddy Yankee.”

It _feels_ , Steve thinks, a _lot_ like a lie.

“I think you _were_ high when you met me,” Steve says, and relents a little. “I can dig it.”

“It’s not nearly as heartfelt as _this_ ,” Billy says, patting the dash to indicate what’s playing now. “Nothing was more fucking sincere than me at seventeen.”

Steve hums, nodding, because Stevie is singing ‘ _cause I built my life around you_ and Steve _gets that_ on a raw level. He closes his eyes and lets the music wash over him for a second.

“Must've been pretty,” Steve says, into the quiet between tracks, and gestures to the radio when he looks and finds Billy blinking at him. “Whoever this is about. They must've been pretty.”

“Prettier than you? Never,” Billy says, and looks back toward the road with a grin.

It's a little while, a little more quiet stretching between the two of them, before Billy talks again.

“But yeah, real pretty. And I was real broken up about it for a while, like a _loser_.”

Which means that Billy, at least _once_ upon a time, didn't just sleep around with new people every night. That he'd been so in love and so wounded after.

Steve aches for him a little. He reaches forward, hits rewind on the tape tape, and starts the song over. Not quite at the beginning, but close enough.

“Not the worst thing to be broken up about,” Steve says, _I took my love and I took it down_ ringing in his head.

“Don't wear through my tapes, Harrington,” Billy warns. “There's only one copy.”

Billy looks different, when Steve looks over at him. More human. A bit more mellow, somehow. Like he's not putting on his usual front. Like Steve's just getting _Billy_ , pure and simple.

Steve kinda likes it. Like, a _lot_.

“Don't worry,” Steve says. “I'll be gentle.”

***

It’s not that Billy’s nervous, because Steve would bet on his _life_ that Billy Hargrove doesn’t get _nerves_ \-- but he’s doing an awful lot of things that Steve would call _nervous tics_ on anyone else.

Drumming his hands on the wheel, tapping his fingers against the gear shift. Hell, he even opens his window the second they hit Hawkins and lights up a cigarette. Hell, he even fixes his hair in the rear-view after they pull up in front of Steve’s house.

“You okay?” Steve can’t help but ask.

“Obviously,” Billy says. “Can’t wait to make my first impression to Mrs. Harrington and Daddy Moneybags.”

“Listen,” Steve says. “What's important is that _I_ like you. And I do. My mom will be frigidly nice, my dad will be kinda stand offish, but if they see I like you, they'll deal. Okay?”

Billy blinks. “You know I’m not, like, _concerned_ about meeting the rents, pretty boy. We’re not dating, despite all this,” Billy says, tapping the picture tucked under his visor. “So it’s not a thing.”

Except for the fact that Billy _does_ seem kind of concerned about all of it. Just a little bit, maybe.

“Uh huh,” Steve says. “Still. Just… it's still Christmas. I want you to have a good time. You're doing me a serious solid.”

“Yeah, and the cash I get will _also_ be a serious solid. But look,” Billy says, actually turning to face Steve instead of just futzing in the mirror. “Anywhere’s better than spending Christmas with my dad. So. Even if they hate me and don’t fork over _anything_ , this is -- it’s better.”

“Okay,” Steve says, nodding slow, eyes not leaving Billy's blue ones. “Well. We have the good booze, too, so. Consider that a cherry on top.”

“Only the best for the Harringtons, right?” Billy says, but he’s smiling now, licking his lips like he’s already looking forward to a drink -- and he probably _is_.

Steve slides out of the Camaro as Billy does the same. Billy grabs their bags and refuses to let Steve help, which probably means he wants the _image_ of being helpful more than _actually_ wanting to help -- but it means that Steve doesn’t have to carry anything, so he doesn’t really argue. There’s no point in arguing with Billy Hargrove anyway, so.

They barely can blink before they’re in front of the front door. Steve doesn't even get to properly knock.

He's mom has been, like, _obsessively_ demanding updates on his location. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd been waiting by the door.

“Steven!” She says, smile bright and white and wide as she opens her arms and reels Steve stumbling over the threshold. “Oh, my baby boy, I'm so glad you're _home_.”

Steve didn't _see_ any other cars in their driveway, but he _knows_ , without a _doubt_ , that there's someone else in the house. She gets gushy and overly affectionate when there's someone watching. And Steve doesn't think it's for _Billy's_ sake.

Still, he pats her on the back and strains to glance back at Billy. They share a look, Billy's eyes bright with mirth, and Steve flips him off while his mom's not looking.

“Hey, mom.” Steve says, dutiful and polite. “It's good to be home.”

“And who’s this, Steven?” his mom asks, when she pulls away from the hug.

Which is kind of annoying, because Steve’s _already_ told her all about Billy. He had to really sell it over the phone -- the infatuation, the nerves, the concern that kept him from telling them about Billy before. He even had a _script_.

“Billy Hargrove, ma’am,” Billy says, and sticks out his hand.

There’s a smile on his face as wide and as bright as the sun -- his _mom-charming_ smile, Steve knows it as. Because, honestly? Billy, like this, looks _real_ charming. And _real_ handsome.

Steve watches, in an abstract kind of horror, as his mother _blushes_.

It's not obvious. Just a little color in her cheeks. But her hand goes to her pearls as she reaches out to shake Billy's hand, and that's _disgustingly_ telling.

And, really, it isn't the first time his mother has fucked one of his friends.

Steve snatches Billy's hand in his before his mom can shake it. Tangles their fingers together. Squeezes tight.

“My _boyfriend_ ,” Steve says, meeting his mother's narrow eyed look. “I told you about him? On the phone?”

“Oh,” his mother waves a hand, laughing and stepping back. “Of course, dear. Must just be the wine. It's lovely to meet you, Mr. Hargrove.”

“The pleasure is _all_ mine, Mrs. Harrington,” Billy says, not dialing the charm down one bit. Like he’s having _fun_ with it.

But he doesn’t pull away from Steve’s hand, just leans casually into his side.

“Please, call me Maria,” she says, and smoothes out some kind of imaginary wrinkles in her blouse. “Steven, Maggie and Ellen stopped by to drop off some goodies, and we're treating them to some wine. Please, get yourself settled and cleaned up and then join us.”

“Of course,” Steve says, and his mom flashes him a smile, kisses his cheek and then strides off down the foyer; the second she's gone, Steve looks at Billy. “Maggie and Ellen are nosy neighbors and part of my mom's book club. They're also, like, really gay, upper middle class, types.”

“So, your mother can impress them with their son’s beautiful boyfriend?” Billy guesses.

And yeah, Steve _really_ wouldn’t put it past his mom to tell them that the _exact_ best time for them to come over is the _exact_ time Steve’s due to show up at the house.

“Probably,” Steve sighs and uses the hand he's got in Billy's to lead him toward the stairs. “Sorry. The grand tour will have to wait.”

Inside, Billy puts the bags down by the stairs where Steve tells him to. Then, Steve pulls Billy toward the kitchen, where Steve knows the ladies will be drinking reds while they pick at the butter cookies Maggie and Ellen bring over every Christmas.

He's not disappointed. They smile, placid and polite, when they spot him. Ellen's mouth is a little more pursed than Maggie's; Ellen is what's considered a _gold star lesbian_ and thinks everything but totally straight and totally homosexual are _phases_.

Maggie's a little more welcoming.

“Steve Harrington, _look at you_ ,” she says, dusting off her pants and padding close to kiss both of his cheeks. “Everytime you come home, it's like you get more lovely.”

Steve thinks she just really digs his pattern shirts and nice sweaters.

“Thanks,” he says, then pulls Billy a little closer. “Maggs, this is my boyfriend Billy.”

“Nice to meet you, Billy,” Maggie says, already shaking Billy’s hand.

“Nice to meet you too,” Billy says, grin wide.

And yeah, Billy puts on some of that fake charm for her, Steve can _see_ it in his face, but it’s different than the charm he used on Steve’s mom. A little more _real_ maybe -- or maybe it’s just that he has nothing to lose when it comes to someone he can’t seduce. Steve doesn’t always understand the intricacies of Billy’s personality, but it’s _fascinating_ to watch.

He stares long enough to get noticed, if Billy's thumb, stroking over the back of his hand, is anything to go by. He warms a little, and looks away.

“Can you _believe_ Steve was _nervous_ to bring him home to meet us?” Steve's mom asks Ellen with a laugh, like she hasn't called Maggie a _well-dressed dyke_ behind her back more than a few times.

Ellen just hums and gives Billy a once-over, like she’s _assessing_ him. Which, for a hot second, scares the daylights out of Steve, like somehow she’ll look straight through him and see the straight fraternity brother underneath it all. But she doesn’t say anything, just lets her face fall into a practiced smile and says, “Well, he certainly looks infatuated with your Steven.”

Billy laughs a little, like he’s shy, like he’s caught in the act. And _damn_ , if Steve was skeptical of Billy’s acting skills.

“As he should be,” his mother says and _winks_ at Billy. “My son is a _catch_.”

“That he is, Mrs. Harrington. I consider myself very lucky.” Billy squeezes Steve’s hand.

“Positively smitten,” Maggie says.

“And let it never be said my boy doesn't have _excellent_ taste,” Maria adds, sipping her wine, and Steve wants the earth to swallow him whole while his mother sits there and brags and _objectifies_ his fake boyfriend. “Just look at that jawline. Well _done_ , Steven.”

Steve's jaw goes tight. “ _Mom_ \--”

“Maria, you're embarrassing him,” Maggie says, smile bright even as Steve feels a blush spread to his ears.

“Thank you,” Billy says, absolutely _shameless_. “Steve likes that I go to the gym a lot.”

Maggie laughs. “I’m sure he does.”

Maybe a meteor will hit the earth today, maybe it’ll land right in the Harrington’s kitchen.

“Is that how you two met?” Ellen asks, nodding when Maria holds out the wine bottle for her, and holding up her glass. “At the _gym_?”

Maggie laughs again. “Oh, that, I can imagine. Steve tripping over himself on that treadmill?”

Steve groans and buries his face in his hands. “ _Kill me_.”

“Oh, I would’ve _loved_ to see that,” Billy says, and Steve can feel the way Billy’s fingers graze over his side. “We’re actually in the same frat. But we went to the same high school, before college.”

“You've known each other for a while,” Maggie says.

His mother raises a well shaped brow. “And you're only just getting together? Steven, I'm surprised. You've never seemed _shy_ about going after what you want.”

Steve just burns _warmer_. His mother has enough evidence to back that up. Be it defiance of daddy dearest’s expectations or pure desire, Steve never been very timid about what he wants.

“It's… complicated,” Steve says, glancing at Billy.

“Oh, I’ve wanted Steve for forever, basically,” Billy says, taking over before Steve can even think to _stop_ him. “But me and Steve? We had our differences back in high school. I was kind of a -- well, I was definitely a _pain_. Took me a while to get him to even talk to me again. But it was worth the wait, and the effort.”

Steve _looks_ at Billy, lips parting a little, because that _wasn't_ exactly the plan, but-- well. It's _good_. Convincing.

Like all the shit when they were younger was just Billy pulling at his pigtails to get his attention.

“Aw, babe,” Steve says. “You had a crush on me?”

And somehow, Billy makes himself _blush_ a little. Which is impressive as hell.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says. “Just let me _live_ , baby.”

And Steve leans in, because he can't help himself, and presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of Billy's mouth.

“I mean, like, _same_.” Steve says, his fingers catching in Billy's, and he'll blame his sweaty palms and racing heart on something else later. “After you stopped being a total dick, anyway.”

Maggie laughs, and Steve remembers that they’re _there_.

“Boys,” Ellen says, with a little roll of her eyes. “I’ll never understand them.”

And his mom, for the most part, doesn’t look _absolutely_ disgusted. So.

She does, however, run them off with a casual wave of her hand and a _“you must be exhausted, go rest before your father gets home_ ” and Steve's too aware of how shitty dinner is gonna be to argue. He takes the excuse for what it is and _pulls_ Billy out of the room and away from the tin of butter cookies with a polite goodbye to Maggie and Ellen.

He doesn't stop pulling until he's got Billy back in the foyer, far enough that they can't overhear him.

Billy, at least, had a hot second to grab some butter cookies, and he’s already shoving them in his mouth, going, “That wasn’t so bad,” but so mumbly Steve can _barely_ understand him.

“It was passable,” Steve says.

“They ate it up like _candy_ ,” Billy says. “Your mom thinks I’m hot as _hell_.”

Steve gives him a pained look. “ _Please_ , don't fuck my mom.”

Billy laughs and it’s a beautiful thing. “Come on, baby, don’t think I’d treat you so bad.” But then Billy’s grinning, wide and delighted and wild. “I mean, I haven't even _seen_ your dad, yet, though. So. Jury’s still out on me leaving you for your daddy.”

“You're so fucking _gross_ ,” Steve huffs, pulling away from him, stopping to grab his bag.

Billy grabs his own bag, too, and laughs as he follows Steve up the stairs, pressing close so that he can whisper in Steve’s ear.

“What, you don’t wanna hear me in the middle of the night, going _daddy, daddy, daddy?”_

Steve smacks at him, gagging a little at the image, and making a show of it so that Billy laughs a little harder. “I'm _begging you_ , please, _stop_ talking about fucking my dad.”

“Does he look like you?” Billy says. “Because I mean, I think I could be into that.”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Steve stomps up the last few steps.

He _knows_ Billy is judging him as he leads the way up to his room and throws his bag on the impeccably designed bed. The room looks almost _untouched_ despite being his childhood safe haven.

Steve's kind of a slob at the Haus because his mom was always riding him about keeping things _presentable._ Like anyone might walk in at anytime.

“Are mommy and daddy going to let me sleep in your bed? Or is that too much under their roof?” Billy asks, already wandering around, looking at stuff, touching shit.

Steve collapses face first onto his bed, just so he doesn't try and trail around after Billy fixing whatever he pushes out of place. His words are muffled, but he's pretty sure Billy can hear him.

“If you don't at least _try_ and sneak in here, my parents will think something's up. The last prude I dated was Nancy. That was a long time ago. And even then, my mom walked in on me with her and Jonathan, so.”

“Jesus, will you please stop talking about that creep?” Billy says, and picks up something else. “Aw, you did _gymnastics_?”

Jesus. His gymnastics trophy from when he was, like, _five_.

Steve rolls over to watch him prowl around the room. Propping his head up on a hand, he shrugs as Billy glances over at him.

“I wouldn't stop walking around on my hands,” Steve says. “Dropped it after 4th grade.”

“Jesus. Are you flexible, too?” Billy asks, putting the trophy down in a completely different place than where he picked it up. “But don’t worry. I wouldn’t ever want your parents thinking I’m a _prude_. I’ll be sure to sneak badly in here, too fueled by my need to score that I’ve lost all ability to be stealthy.”

Steve laughs, biting the inside of his cheek, laying there and watching Billy poke at a bobble head of Obama on one of his shelves. It goes up and down, like it's dizzy, just from Billy's touch.

Steve gets that.

“You're supposed to be wildly, passionately in love with me. Of course you'd sneak in and make a spectacle of yourself.” Steve says. “And I've been told I'm very bendy.”

“Neat,” Billy says, as he leans over to study the titles on Steve’s bookshelf.

Which is -- well, jesus, it’s _boring_. Like Billy just got _bored_ of teasing Steve halfway through.

Steve frowns and tilts his head. “Are you, like, gonna have an issue with that? If you're not comfortable with that, you don't _have_ to.”

“What?” Billy asks, and he sounds _genuinely_ confused, before he blinks and then shakes his head. “ _Oh_. Nah, it’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t slept together before. I think I can handle a little cuddling.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, eyes narrowed on the shelf of books Billy's hand drops away from. “You seemed kinda _not into it_ there, for a second.”

“Yeah, no, I just forgot what we were talking about. I’m real dehydrated,” Billy says.

“ _What_?” Steve blinks at him, totally _lost_.

“I’m _dehydrated_ ,” Billy says. “Keep up, Harrington. I have no problem sleeping in the same bed as you. Jesus, why would I care about that? We’ve _already_ fallen asleep together.”

“You're _dehydrated_ ,” Steve repeats, dumb and blinking.

“Why,” Billy asks, “are you so caught up on that?”

“I dunno, it's just the weirdest fucking excuse I've ever heard.”

“Okay, well, it’s just a _thing_ , King Steve. People get dehydrated and they get distracted. All I’ve had today is coffee, alright?”

“You want me to get you some water?”

“Sure,” Billy says.

So, Steve does.

When he comes back with a glass, fresh from his bathroom, Billy’s stretched out in Steve’s bed. He clearly pulled a cozy sweatshirt out of his own bag and he looks _comfortable_. Like he belongs there, stretched long and lazy on top of Steve’s covers.

It's a pretty sight. It makes him falter, for a second or two, in the door to just _stare_. He only stops when Billy clears his throat.

“Sorry,” Steve says and half closes the door behind him as he steps back in, padding over and holding out ther glass for Billy. “ _Dehydrated_.”

“I’m gonna kill you in your sleep,” Billy says, taking the glass to take a long sip. “While we’re spooning. After I’ve boned your dad.”

“Sounds romantic,” Steve says, batting his lashes.

“Real fucking romantic. I'm a goddamn _charmer,_ ” Billy says.

“I can imagine it, now.” Steve says, plopping down next to him, tone dry. “Bet you'd take my breath away.”

“Oh,” Billy says. “I absolutely would.”


	4. jingle bell rock sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _steve's parents are pretty much the worst._

“Um,” Billy says, when Steve starts pulling off his shirt and begins digging around in his bag. “Why are you getting naked?”

They haven’t been doing much, just lazing around in Steve’s room, dicking around on instagram and facebook and twitter, occasionally sharing shit while they half-listen to all ladies laughing in the kitchen downstairs. It’s kind of nice. Steve’s bed is big, because of course it is, and it’s easy to spread out next to him. It’s not a king, so Billy’s feet keep brushing up against Steve’s if he lays in a particular way, and Steve occasionally shifts so he elbows Billy, but it’s good. It’s a nice _rest_ from the hectic nature of finals week at The Haus.

“Changing for dinner?” Steve says, face confused as he looks back at Billy.

Billy just raises his eyebrows and tries _not_ to look at the lines of Steve’s stomach that are now exposed to the warm light of his room.

“That was my dad’s car,” Steve says, indicating a faint sound Billy heard from outside, earlier. “Which means it’s almost dinner.”

“And you...have to change for dinner?” Billy asks.

Maybe _that’s_ why Steve told him to bring so many nice shirts.

Steve laughs a little, pulling his shirt up and over his head, and he nods toward Billy's suitcase. “You may have joked about fucking him, but I _promise_ you won't want to once you meet him. Put on the red sweater and fix your hair. Trust me.”

“What, does he like, have _wrinkles_?” Billy asks, but he pushes off the bed anyway and goes to grab a sweater. “Hair up?”

“Please,” Steve nods, fixing his own hair from behind Billy's shoulder, and adjusting the collar of his polo. “And I know you think this whole thing is _basically_ a joke, but that's because you haven't met my dad. So, just… keep it cool, okay? Just like we talked about.”

And Billy bites back some kind of joke, because, honestly? It sounds like Steve’s kinda _nervous_. Like maybe he’s regretting this whole thing.

“Look, trust me, okay?” Billy says. “I know how to dad. Dads love me.”

Which is probably not _deeply_ comforting, but Billy _does_ know how to talk to dads. He knows how to call them _Sir_ and how to talk about football and fishing and the stock market. He knows how to be respectful and how to sit up straight and how to keep his hands to himself at the dinner table.

Sure, Steve doesn’t trust him, but Billy _fully_ intends on proving him wrong.

For the money.

Obviously.

Not because he, like, _needs_ Steve to trust him or anything. Not like he _actually_ wants Mr. Harrington to approve of him.

“Yeah, okay.” Steve nods, almost absent. “We'll see how that goes.”

If they _were_ dating, Billy would lean over and kiss Steve. But they’re not, so. Billy just tugs on his sweater and fixes his hair in the mirror, instead. Going for a neat-but-slightly-messy bun that isn’t the picture of Conservative perfection, but even Neil doesn’t hate his hair like this, so. It’s not like Billy’s going to cut it just to impress Mr. Harrington.

“Look okay?” Billy says, anyway, turning to face Steve.

Steve hums and reaches for him. Tugs an artfully messy curl out and twists it around his finger as he shuffles closer.

His hands are warm across his shoulders and down his arms, smoothing out the wrinkles and giving a tentative nod.

“You'll pass,” Steve says, then meets his gaze again, smile lazy. “I mean, you look hot but totally respectable. It'll be hard for my dad to make his _disappointed_ face when you look better than all of us.”

But Steve's wearing his nice jeans, the ones that really show off his ass, and his polo is _pink_ and _fitted_. It's hard to imagine looking _prettier_ than Steve Harrington is.

“Ready to face the music, baby?” Billy asks.

He feels a little warm, a little _nervous_ , even though he shouldn't be.

“Hardly,” Steve says. “Want a kiss for good luck?”

Billy hums. Then, he grins, trying to ignore the way his heart skips in his chest.

“Hell yes,” he says, and then dips forward before Harrington can deny him, before he can say it was _just a joke_.

Steve jolts a little, like that's _exactly_ how he meant it. But then he's cradling Billy's jaw and _kissing back_. Lingering there, his lips warm and pliant against Billy's.

Billy doesn’t hold it for long. But he savors what he lets himself have. Keeps it half-chaste -- as chaste as _Billy Hargrove_ can get -- and lets himself taste Steve, lets himself drink in the warmth of it. And then, before it goes for too long, he pulls away. And grins, because it’s easy to be a little giddy with it, a little self-assured.

“Come on. Let’s go meet daddy and you can show him how pretty your new boytoy is.”

“Right,” Steve says, cheeks flush, eyes a little wide.

Then, he blinks and takes Billy's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He pulls Billy out of his room and down the hall, pauses at the top of the stairs for a breath, and then marches down them.

From the foyer, they can hear voices chattering. Billy can make out a deep belly laugh from someone that _must_ be Steve's father.

Billy squeezes Steve’s hand because it seems like the guy could use the comfort. And maybe because, a little self-servingly, Billy could use the comfort, too.

“It’ll be okay,” Billy says, voice barely above a whisper.

Steve huffs, but nods; like Billy's _actually_ reassuring him. He holds Billy's hand tighter and steps into the kitchen.

Billy spots Steve's dad instantly. He's a bean pole of a guy; he can see where Steve gets his physique. Broad shoulders and a nice suit and salt and pepper hair make up a pretty picture. Billy thinks Steve's going to age pretty fucking _well_.

“Ah, Steven!” Maria says, her big fake smile on, and Billy thinks she's _nice_ but in the way that's completely and totally _manufactured_. “I was just telling your father about our guest.”

Mr. Harrington straightens out, unbuttons his suit jacket, and strides over with one hand out and the other ever so _casually_ balled up in his pocket. Billy could recognize restrained disgust _anywhere_.

“Mr. Hargrove,” Mr. Harrington says, smile tight. “It's a pleasure. Any friend of Steven’s is always welcome.”

Billy doesn’t take much offense at being referred to as Steve’s _friend_.

It’s better than being kicked out instantly, so.

He takes Steve’s father’s hand in his own -- still holding onto Steve’s with the other -- and gives him a _Neil Hargrove perfected_ handshake. Crisp, firm, military.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Billy says. “Thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your home over the holidays. It’s an honor.”

He puts on his best smile, keeps his spine straight, and looks Mr. Harrington in the eyes. And then, because he’s not dumb, he drops his eye contact just a hair, so he’s not being _aggressive_ , just friendly. Even a little deferring. Billy knows the drill.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Mr. Harrington says, giving Billy's hand a friendly squeeze. “Steven, I think your friend has more manners than _you_ do.”

Steve's _clutching_ at his other hand, smile just as fake as his mother's. It's _awful._

“It's nice to see you, too, dad.”

Mr. Harrington drops Billy's hand to pat Steve on the shoulder. “Would be nicer if you were staying for the party. I spent all month talking you up.”

“Maybe we can rearrange our schedules,” Billy says. “Isn’t that right, Steve?”

Billy _feels_ Steve squeeze his hand even tighter. Billy isn’t sure what Steve told his dad about them not being able to stay, but Billy can make up some sort of family thing as an excuse, and then maybe he can _also_ feign some sort of crisis. And, knowing the Hargroves and their typical Christmas drama, it won’t be _hard_. Neil’s _already_ throwing a fit that Billy isn’t going to be home for the holidays.

“We'll have to talk to your parents,” Steve says. “But it would be rude to change plans so last minute. And, I mean, it's only fair that if you spend Christmas here, we spend New Year's there.”

Billy just nods at Steve and smiles, _charming_. “You’re right. But maybe we can pull some strings. You know I hate missing parties, and this sounds like one we wouldn’t want to pass up.”

“It's a work function,” Mr. Harrington says, and he gives Steve's shoulder a little squeeze before dropping his hand. “It'd be very good for Steve to start making connections. Graduation _is_ right around the corner.”

“I know, dad.” Steve says.

“Do you?” Mr. Harrington asks. “So, you've got your cover letter, your resume, your recommendations all lined up like we talked about?”

Steve breathes out sharp through his nose.

Mr. Harrington's smile is _painfully_ condescending. “That's a no.”

“James, that's enough,” Maria says, coming up behind him. “Sylvia is almost done with dinner. Go freshen up, would you?”

“Of course, darling.” Mr. Harrington says, kissing her cheek, and then he glances at Steve. “You're going to put on something nicer than that, aren't you? We have guests.”

Billy's knuckles ache, Steve's got his hand so tight. But he smiles, just as sweet and placid, and Billy wouldn't _know_ it was fake if he didn't know what Steve looked like when he was genuinely happy.

“I'll go change,” he says, and then looks at Billy. “Do you want to wait here?”

“Where do you want me, baby?” Billy says, absolutely sincere for the first time since they stepped in the kitchen.

It’s all a strange kind of aggression that sets Billy’s teeth on edge, because it’s so _new_. So unlike anything he’s ever experienced from Steve before.

“Come with me?” Steve asks, eyes flitting between his.

“Of course,” Billy says, and with that, lets Steve pull him out of the room and up the stairs.

Steve’s guard doesn’t drop until the bedroom door is closed behind them. Like he has to keep his back straight and his smile on until he’s on his own turf. Billy knows the feeling.

The second they're alone, though, his mouth presses into a thin line. He lets go of Billy and walks over to his closet, ripping out a pair of pressed khakis and a sweater.

He's toeing off his shoes and pulling his shirt over his head before he says anything.

“You don't have to change if you don't want,” Steve says. “He won't comment about anything other than maybe your hair.”

“Okay,” Billy says.

But he tugs his sweater over his head anyway and puts a button down on underneath it. Then, tugs the sweater back down over it. His jeans are dark washed, at least. And it feels kind of weird to put on the chinos he has in his bag, like admitting that Mr. Harrington got to _him_ , too.

Mostly, he’s changing just for solidarity. So Steve doesn’t have to be so alone.

But he has to fix his hair again, bun all messed up from getting the sweater over his head, which means he loses the little bit of extra hair Steve pulled out earlier -- instead, it all goes back into the bun.

“You look good,” Billy says, as Steve’s smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt.

Steve scoffs out a little laugh. “I could be wearing a bespoke three piece and not look good enough.”

“Well, you look good enough for your loving boyfriend. Screw dads who’ll never think you’re good enough, huh?”

Steve finally meets his gaze again. His smile is small but _real_.

Billy likes it much better.

“Good enough to follow me home for an unbearable Christmas, right?” Steve asks. “Or are we writing that up for my pro blowjob skills?”

“Both,” Billy says. “Now come on, the faster we can get through dinner, the faster we don't have to actually _be_ there, right?”

When Billy reaches out and gets Steve's fingers in his to pull him through the door, his hands are warm.

Billy can't quite name _how_ exactly Steve is looking at him. It's a soft expression; a sweet one. He's not sure he deserves it.

***

Dinner is emotionally _exhausting_. Just _watching_ Steve navigate a verbal minefield is hard to do.

Mostly because he keeps having to bite his own tongue while Steve smiles, all polite and terrible, and _takes_ whatever underhanded barb comes his way while the _“adults”_ at the table talk.

Billy decides, very quickly, that Mr. Harrington is a prick of epic proportions.

But he still does his best to try and impress. As much as he _can_ anyway. Billy gets the _bizarre_ feeling that he’d have to be a 50-plus straight man into, like, investment portfolios to even be considered worthwhile talking to. But at least Mr. Harrington doesn’t seem to _hate_ him, so Billy considers that a win.

He _does_ get to hold Steve’s hand under the dinner table for the whole meal, which is something. It’s definitely better than going through this whole thing without an anchor, at least he _hopes_.

There’s not much Billy can do, or talk about, so he just keeps track of the conversation to make sure no one’s talking to _him_ , while he tries to imagine what Steve is going to look like when he gets older, now that Billy’s seen his mother and father. And, despite everything Steve says about them -- he’s going to look _hot_. Like, he’s hot now, but in a few years? In ten? In _twenty_?

Steve’s _totally_ going to be a hot dad.

“Maria told me you're in the fraternity with Steven,” Mr. Harrington says, long after the bruschetta is gone and he's cutting into some salmon with a _knife_ , as if he needs it. “What are you studying?”

Billy nods, and he’s trying not to eat too fast or too slow, mostly just keeping pace with Mr. Harrington. Billy _knows_ how this works.

“I’m doing a double major in religious studies and poli-sci,” Billy says.

He knows it’s not the kind of major his own father wanted, but then again, Billy’s dad wanted him to join the military. Like father, like son.

“That's ambitious,” Mr. Harrington says, sharing a look with his wife. “Are you going to go into politics? Lobbying or something of that nature?”

Maria's laugh is like a bell. “Oh, could you imagine? Steven, a senator’s husband? Tell us that's in your future, William.”

“I’ve considered it,” Billy says, because it’s actually not far from the truth. His stomach warms a little, though, at the idea of what Maria says, at the thought that that _could_ be his future. “I’d definitely need someone as steadfast as Steve at my side to keep me from getting too headstrong. Right, baby?”

Steve blinks at him a few times, face a little pink. “Of course.”

Mr. Harrington hums. “You'd be quite the power couple. I've been grooming Steven to take over the family company since he was a boy. Though, he'll have to shape up quite a bit, still. His grades have left much to be desired in the past.”

Billy squeezes Steve’s hand again. Then, he nods. Then, he says, “I have to say, this is the nicest dinner I’ve had in a long time. I really do appreciate you all welcoming me into your home. It’s -- my family... -- I really appreciate it.” Like there’s something unsaid, like they’re doing him a _favor_.

From what he figures, the Harringtons will eat that up with their _community service_ shit.

It’s a deflection, but at least they don’t have to talk about Steve’s grades.

Billy's right. Maria jumps on that in an instant, mouth pursed up into a little pout as she reaches out and pats the back of his hand.

“Oh, think nothing of it, dear,” she says, and looks at Mr. Harrington. “Our home is _your_ home.”

Mr. Harrington nods. “Hopefully we'll be seeing more of you around here. Think of us as your second family. And when you start wetting your political palate-- well, I have a _very good_ tailor I'll put you in touch with.”

Billy takes a second to put on a _touched_ face, like he’s trying to compose himself.

And damn if he isn’t a good actor, he thinks. Neil taught him so many fucking skills.

“Thank you,” he says, nodding. “I just -- I really appreciate it. I couldn’t be any luckier.”

Mr. Harrington rewards him with a smile and then they start talking about the outcome from the midterms. It's all fluff and no substance; the Harringtons put on a good show of knowing just enough to debate with Maggie and Ellen, but it fills the time between dinner and dessert.

As the table is being cleared for coffee and cake, Steve pushes to his feet. “If you'll excuse us for a second. We're just going to catch a breath of fresh air.”

“Turn on the lights while you're out there.” Mr. Harrington waves a hand, dismissing them easily, and Steve pulls Billy out of his seat and out of the dining room.

Billy tries to ask where they're going, but Steve hushes him until they're out back. There's steam rolling off the heated pool, and when Steve hits a switch, fairy lights make the backyard look like a winter oasis. Spotlights shine up into the trees, too, giving the whole place an unearthly sort of glow. An _expensive_ sort of glow.

Billy thinks the only thing missing is some deer and maybe a bit of snow.

“So, are we allowed to go into the pool?” Billy asks. He aches for a cigarette, but he figures Mr. Harrington probably wouldn’t like the sight of Billy outside on his pool deck, smoking. “That could’ve gone worse, right?”

“You kidding? My mom's probably planning our _wedding_. You were _spectacular,_ ” Steve says, and then nods at Billy's shoes as he peels off his own and cuffs up his pants. “C'mon. The skinny dipping'll have to wait until they pass out.”

“I mean, I _have_ always wanted an expensive-as-hell wedding. How much do you think they’ll fork over for it. Thirty, forty grand?” Billy says, toeing off his own shoes and rolling his pants up, too, so he can join Steve next to the pool.

Steve laughs a little as he sticks his feet in, the lights from the pool highlighting his face in blue as he looks up at Billy. “Fifty minimum. Especially since you show so much _promise_. They'll be running fundraisers for you in no time.”

“Well, that’s fucking _unexpected,_ ” Billy says. “I mean, sure, I knew I was gonna charm the pants off them, but. Figured they wouldn’t exactly be angling for _marriage_ already.”

“You hit them in their wheelhouse.” Steve shrugs. “Smart, white, middle class political major who wants to run for office someday, but diverse enough to be a good talking point when they're rubbing elbows. They'll be pissed when they find out you're not actually gay.”

The words are like icy cold water being dumped right on his head, freezing him to the bone, stalling out his thoughts, making his stomach turn over in his gut.

“Yeah uh,” Billy says, brain dead in the water. “So.”

“So?” Steve frowns, his head tilting.

And god, Billy knows he _should_. But it’s like he suddenly can’t fucking talk. He can barely even _swallow_. He’s gotta tell Steve, and he _will_ \-- just not now. He can’t.

“So we’ll just have to have a fifty thousand dollar wedding,” Billy says, instead. “It’d be _great_ for my career.”

“You gonna wear all white?” Steve asks, nudging into him a little.

“No, I look killer in black,” Billy says. “You can wear the white. Even if you’re about as pure as my dick.”

“ _Gross_ ,” Steve laughs, shoving at him, but then he glances over his shoulder. “You're gonna have to kiss me in the next five minutes or so. They'll get suspicious.”

“You think they’re watching us?” Billy says, but he leans closer just so they make a pretty picture, getting his lips all close to Steve’s neck. “Are your parents voyeurs, Harrington?”

Steve tips his head over a little and groans. “Please stop making sexual innuendos about my parents.”

“How can I not? Your dad’s kinda a looker, man,” Billy says. He lets his breath go all hot against that exposed skin, lets his teeth reach out to nip, just a bit.

Steve shivers, all subtle and sweet, and he reaches out and puts his hand _high_ on Billy's thigh-- _squeezing_ , his fingers dangerously close to his crotch-- but his tone is _dry_. “Gosh, Billy, you really know how to sweet talk a guy. Complement my dad a little _more_ , would you? You're getting me all hot.”

And yeah, okay, maybe Billy _does_ think Mr. Harrington is kinda hot for an older guy. But really what gets him going is just kinda how _gross_ it would be, to sleep with someone’s dad. What kinda _also_ gets him, even _more so_ , is riling Steve up like this, pissing him off.

“What, you think your parents want you to give me a handy by the pool?” Billy says, but Steve’s fingers are so _close_ that Billy _knows_ his voice is a little fucked. A little too low, a little too shaky. “- get your fingers around me while I’m thinking about your daddy,” Billy says, after another bite to Steve’s neck.

Steve makes a ridiculous, disgruntled sound, his fingers digging in _hard_ against the inner seam of his pants. He's gonna leave _bruises_.

“ _Pretty sure_ ,” Steve starts, breath catching as Billy tongues at the bite, “that you wanted _me_ to call _you_ daddy on our first date.”

“I thought you liked it _both ways_ ,” Billy says, and he knows Steve’s gonna have move his hand soon, or Billy’s gonna have a _problem_.

Steve huffs, so damn prissy, his fingers flexing over Billy's thigh-- and then he's turning his head, his mouth brushing Billy's cheek, his ear. His breath is hot, his hand _hotter_.

“I _do_ ,” Steve says, and Billy can't tell if he's lying or playing along, not with how sweet and low his voice has gotten. “You wanna be my daddy, baby?”

Billy chokes a little, throat going a little tight.

Honestly? He kinda wants it _all_ with Steve. Wants whatever he can get. If that’s Steve calling him daddy, if it’s the _reverse_ \-- Billy’d be into it. He’d be into fucking _all_ of it.

But he can’t answer that, can’t _say_ that, so he just kisses Steve instead, hard and hot and fast, filling in all the gaps where he probably _should_ answer, but can’t.

Steve moans, soft and breathless, fingers splaying out over his leg and tugging him in closer with the other. Kisses back just as hard, parting his lips and coaxing at Billy's, tongue deft and still sweet from the wine at dinner.

And it’s not like Billy’s trying to get _control_ , but he has _got_ to move Steve’s hand before he gets anything more than a chub out of him, because his jeans are dark wash, but they’re not gonna hide _everything_. So Billy grabs him by both wrists and intertwines their fingers. Like he’s just _gotta_ hold Steve’s hands. For show.

Steve squeezes at his fingers, feeding these heady, lingering little kisses to Billy as they press close to one another, knees bumping.

It’s kinda hard to _cool down_ while he’s kissing Steve, but Billy half-manages it, slowing the kiss down into something a little less heated, something a little _slower_. Less hot, less searing. Sweeter.

Eventually, Billy pulls away, just to catch his breath. Over Steve’s shoulder, he can see Mrs. Harrington’s face in the window.

“Your mom’s watching us make out,” he says.

“My mom wants to fuck you,” Steve says, fingers curling over Billy's nape and reeling him in for another long kiss. “Show her you're not interested.”

“You so sure that I’m _not_?” Billy says, but he kisses Steve again, letting the heat of it settle in his gut in a nice way. Leaving him aching in the familiar way this whole thing has made him achingly aware of.

“Even if you are, pretend you're not,” Steve breathes, meeting his mouth with parted lips and a wet tongue, eyes heavy and half closed. “Pretend you want me. Only me.”

Billy laughs into the kiss and lets go of one of Steve’s hands so that he can get a hand in his hair. “Such a _burden_ ,” Billy mumbles, but he’s grinning into the kiss, wide and pleased.

Steve hums, like he's _agreeing_ , but he's still kissing him. Still moaning when Billy pulls at his hair a little. Still letting his mouth slant under Billy's. Still sucking at his tongue as he pulls Billy impossibly closer.

“Steven!” Steve's mom calls suddenly, and Steve breaks off to rest his forehead to Billy's, breath heavy and warm between them. “Dessert won't wait forever!”

“Be right in!” Steve calls, and then kisses at the corner of Billy's mouth, still cradling the back of his head. “She'll probably leave you alone, now.”

“Yeah, after she bones your dad while thinking about me,” Billy cackles, running his tongue over his lips just to greedily taste the last remnants of Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving at him. “I'll straight up _drown you_ , oh, my god.”

“But you’d _miss_ me, if you did,” Billy says, shoving back.

“Barely,” Steve says, pushing to his feet. “Come on. Let's get dessert.”

“Okay,” Billy says, following Steve to his feet, immediately missing the warmth of Steve next to him and the sight of him smiling, illuminated by the blue light of the pool.

***

Steve and Billy retreat to the “den,” as Steve calls it, after dinner. Billy’s never had anything more than just a living room, but Steve’s family seems to have a living room, a family room, a den, and probably a few other rooms that Billy hasn’t been formally shown. It’s _crazy_ , he thinks, but sort of a dream, too.

They’ve had some wine, and Billy’s already a little buzzed by the time Steve dismisses himself, saying he should probably check in with his dad, which he _does_. And that’s cool, yeah, Billy thinks -- until Steve’s gone for like fifteen minutes and Billy feels _weird_ about it.

So, it’s not like he’s _looking_ for Steve when Billy leans in against the propped open door to Steve’s dad’s study on his way to the bathroom, stalling outside in the hall to listen to the voices within. It’s just that he’s _there_ and he’s _curious_ , and maybe he’s a little tipsy, too.

 _Besides_.

Steve sounds kind of upset.

And Billy’s a _caring boyfriend_. So of course he’d be curious.

Mr. Harrington's voice is low. Dangerously quiet. Soft enough that you _have_ to pay attention.

“-- this is a lot to swallow,” he says, his hands on Steve's shoulders, Steve's head bowed when Billy peeks into the crack in the door. “You have to understand that this kind of behavior is ridiculous. You're an adult now, Steve, not some attention hungry teenager. This phase of yours needs to settle-- you're either straight or you're gay. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, so subdued and _tired_.

“It's _embarrassing,”_ his dad says. “You don't want to embarrass your mother and I, do you?”

“No, sir,” Steve says, fists balled at his sides.

Billy clenches his teeth, his own fists mirroring Steve's.

Jesus, you would think Steve told them he does hard drugs casually, with the way his dad is reacting. Aren't parents supposed to be happy their kids are with someone? Parents who aren't openly homophobic, anyway. Parents who give money to liberal candidates and publically tout how open and accepting they are.

“Well, what's done is done.” Mr. Harrington sighs. “Your mother and I will put up with it. Just don't let me _see_ it.”

Steve nods. “Okay, dad.”

“Your mother and I are tucking in early. Can I trust you not to do anything stupid?”

Billy’s blood _boils_ underneath his skin and his fists _ache_ to punch.

But he can’t. He _can’t_.

Maybe he can _salvage_ this. Or like, burn it all to the ground, or something.

Regardless, he knows he has to beat a hasty retreat.

So, by the time he hears Steve say something like an affirmative, Billy’s slinking back toward the den, chest feeling heavy, palms itchy.


	5. away in a mansion, no room in the bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _sharing a bed is the key to any successful fake-relationship. that's, like, rule numero uno._

After his dad leaves, after he's finished _scolding_ him, Steve takes a moment to gather himself. To suck in breath after shuddering breath before he can face Billy without crying like a total bitch.

He scrubs his hands over his face, jaw wound tight, a half scream of a sound caught right behind his back molars.

The walk back to the den is long. Or it seems to be.

When he gets there, Billy is standing there, right in the middle of the space, looking way too casual.

“Hey,” Billy says, and while Billy’s a _great_ actor around Steve’s parents, he’s kinda shit the rest of the time. Or maybe just _now_. Like maybe he doesn’t think he has to try. “You want some whiskey?” Billy says. “I have some upstairs.”

“You trying to get me drunk, Hargrove?”

“I’m trying to get _me_ drunk,” Billy says. “How else do you expect me to fall asleep in this Stepford Wives nightmare? If you get drunk in the process,” Billy shrugs, “then, that’s a lucky byproduct.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “I've got weed up there, too.”

“C’mon,” Billy says, grabbing Steve by the hand to pull him through his _own house_ like Steve doesn’t know the way.

But he can’t even be mad about it, because whatever Billy heard, he’s not _talking_ about it, not asking Steve about it, not trying to comfort him. Whatever Billy thinks, he’s dealing with it in his own way -- which is by ignoring it completely and getting shitfaced.

Which, honestly, is the kind of a coping mechanism that Steve can appreciate.

Definitely one he can get behind. He fishes out the weed the second they're in his room, lighting up and dragging _hard_.

He thinks if he hits it hard enough, he'll forget about the way his dad squeezed at his shoulders and _looked_ at him.

“Here,” Steve offers the blunt after a second, smoke still snaking past his lips.

Billy joins him near the window, where Steve’s already cracked it a bit, cold air seeping into the room. He takes a toke and passes the blunt back, silent. Just leaning against the window, careful eyes watching Steve, half-lidded, lazy.

Steve doesn't know what he sees or what he's looking for. He just knows that Billy wasn't totally lying at dinner earlier, about his family, and Steve's seen some of it first hand. Knows that this isn't ideal, but that it's _better_ than what might be waiting for him at home.

He's happy Billy decided to come with him, even if it's embarrassing.

“You said you had whiskey?”

“Yeah,” Billy breathes out, and then steals another toke before he goes over to his bag to dig out a bottle from the middle of it, all wrapped in sweatshirts.

“No cups,” he says, coming back to the window and unscrewing the top. “We drink like heathens, even in this fancy house of yours.”

He takes a slug and passes it over to Steve.

“The best way to drink,” Steve says, knocking back a mouthful and chasing it with another hit. “Gotta love the holidays.”

“No, I'm pretty sure the best way to drink is _body shots,_ but I _guess_ I can live like this,” Billy says. “But yeah, holidays suck ass.”

“Thanks for dealing with… all of this,” Steve makes a vague gesture with his hand and hits the blunt again before holding it out for Billy. “You're handling it really well.”

“This is -- well, it's not _nothing_ ,” Billy says, “Because it still sucks. Really fucking hard. But it's not going back to my house. It's not my dad, and it's not me.” Billy shrugs. “I'm removed from it, it's not happening to _me_. I mean, don't get me wrong, I kinda wanna punch your dad in the _face,_ but. I won't. Because that would probably suck for you.”

Steve frowns at the burning end of the joint. He doesn't want to think about Billy listening to what his dad said, and he doesn’t want to see what his face looks like twisted up in pity. So, Steve keeps his eyes down.

“You don't have to stay if you're uncomfortable,” Steve says, but he _really_ doesn't want Billy to _go_ either. “He's a prick. I told you.”

Billy looks like he's contemplating it, but instead he just says, after a little while, “And get smacked around by my dad all vacation? At least the company here is good.”

Steve's lips press into a thin line. His mouth burns with a want-- to know, to comfort-- but he bites it back.

He reaches out, curls a loose hand over his wrist, gives a little squeeze.

“Is it weird that I was thinking the same thing?” Steve asks. “That I'm glad you're here?”

“Nah, it's good,” Billy says, stealing the joint for another drag. “I'm great company, I know.”

It's a second before Billy passes the joint back.

“The shit with my dad -- I don't say that shit to diminish this shit. This shit sucks. I just -- wanted to share, you know? It's only fair.”

“I get it.” Steve nods. “You don't have to, though. Share, I mean. You don't have to feel obligated.”

Another shrug. “I wanted to. I don't do shit I don't wanna.”

“No?” Steve asks, and he clears his throat past how terribly _heavy_ this all is. “Pretty sure you've had to do a _couple_ things you don't wanna since we started this.”

Billy just raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, because making out with you is a chore.”

Steve laughs a little, stealing the blunt back. He drags steady and slow and grins at Billy through the smoke.

“You saying I'm a good kisser?”

“Don't let it go to your head. I'm saying you're _alright_ ,” Billy says.

“Because you have _so much_ experience kissing pretty boys like me,” Steve says as Billy offers him a drink.

“I kiss a _lot_ of people,” Billy says, grin wide. “Some of them pretty boys just like you. Hm -- well, maybe not _as_ pretty.”

“You just like me for my looks,” Steve scoffs, but his smile is big, his eyes bright; Billy's are, too, and Steve _loves_ it. “I knew you were just looking for a trophy wife.”

“Apparently,” Billy says. “Who knew?”

Steve tries to stifle a giggle. He really does. But there's something giddy and _relieved_ uncurling in his chest; he can't help but laugh, high and tipsy and swaying into Billy's space.

Billy leans up against him, warm and solid and soft.

“You losing it on me, baby?” Billy says. “Because we gotta get married first so I can pick up your life insurance.”

“It's been a long fucking day,” Steve says, still laughing, but he doesn't move away from Billy, sitting there on his window sill seat, the cold air drifting in but their bodies warm all pressed together. “I think I'm allowed to lose it a little. You should lose it, too.”

“I'm less of a lightweight,” Billy mumbles, but he's smiling as he adjusts himself next to Steve so he's leaning even more against him. Even closer as he gets comfy on the sill.

“Still,” Steve says, and he knows it's a mix of the day and the weed and the booze that makes him reach out and offer the blunt from his fingertips to Billy's mouth. “There's no one to judge, here. Relax.”

And Billy doesn't hesitate. He just leans in and breathes in deep, eyes on Steve, gaze dark.

“You trying to get me blitzed, pretty boy?” Billy says, after breathing out, hints of smoke still slipping from his mouth.

“Maybe. Is it working?”

Steve keeps Billy's eyes locked with his own, drawing another breath in off the joint.

“Little bit,” Billy says, kinda slow, kinda rough, eyes even darker than before.

“Nobody's watching this time,” Steve says, leaning in, drawing closer. “You can say no.”

He draws in another breath, reaching out and curling a hand over Billy's neck, fingers catching in the curls loose at the base of Billy's skull. The smoke weighs heavy in his mouth as he tilts his head, a blatant invitation, with an incentive; one he hopes Billy takes, even just for the hell of it.

Billy makes a noise, low in his throat. For a second, Steve thinks he might turn away -- but then he's leaning in, lips so goddamn close to Steve's so he can breathe in all pretty when Steve exhales. When he does, Billy's fingers reach out and grab at Steve's sweater, like he's steadying himself. Like he's just _holding on_. To keep from floating away.

Steve nudges at Billy's nose with his own, mouth hanging half open as he just ghosts his lips to Billy's, chasing the smoke.

And Billy doesn't back away. He just lets Steve, breathing out into his mouth like he planned on it. Billy's eyes are half closed, lids droopy and frustratingly bedroom-y. It's -- hot as hell, but a little painful too, especially when Billy steals Steve's hand again instead of the joint, just so he can take another hit to keep the whole thing going.

Steve swallows down a little moan when Billy angles his head to breathe the smoke into Steve's mouth-- and he has to grip the edge of the window sill to keep from crawling into Billy's lap and _licking_ the last of the smoke from his tongue.

Billy just stays steady. He doesn't pull back like Steve thought he might, just leans forward and licks, just _slightly_ , at Steve's lower lip.

Steve shivers with it, as Billy's breath fills Steve's world, tinges it with smoke and sandalwood.

It's heady. A slow, sinuous rush that leaves Steve _dizzy_. That leaves him trembling for a little _more_.

His skin feels alive and bright and stretched too thin; his mouth, burning.

He takes another hit.

When he holds the smoke, dank and sweet, in his mouth the next time, he savors the weight of it on his tongue before pressing in and pressing closer. Until it's all heat between them and Steve can't help but press his mouth to Billy's and feed him the smoke from his lips with teeth and tongue.

Billy _lets_ him. He goes easy against Steve, even leaning forward, the heat of their bodies fogging up the cloudy glass next to them. The bite of air seeping in through the cracked window nips at the base of Steve’s rib cage, but he can’t be cold. There’s no space for it, not with the way Billy’s making him burn up inside, fire lit right under his skin.

Billy tastes like smoke and like whiskey, like the expensive red wine they had at dinner. Vanilla, like dessert, and just like he did before. Deep and earthy, and Steve can’t help but fold to it, lean into it, even as Billy’s hand fists at Steve’s sweater, like maybe he’s going to push Steve away -- but he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls Steve closer.

Steve finally breaks. He moans, breathless and half keening, tongue sliding against Billy's as he shuffles closer, half up on his knees and half holding himself up against Billy.

He sucks at Billy's tongue, fingers curling in his hair and pulling it loose until he can run his fingers through the thick mess, pulling and angling Billy's head back so he can break from his lips and pull another mouthful of smoke over his tongue. He meets Billy's half lidded eyes, feels the cool air lick at his lower back where his sweater has ridden up, and then leans in to kiss him again.

He's shaking. It feels good-- _too good_ \-- like each kiss itself is its own drug. He trembles as Billy parts his lips with a deft, slick tongue, quivers as he feels a big hand splay out over his lower back.

He knows it won't last. That, any second, Billy will pull away. That they'll finish the joint and then have nothing keeping them close like this.

It makes Steve need it all the more. Makes him shudder and fist his hand in Billy's hair and makes him _whine_ against his lips.

The whine doesn’t make Billy pull back, like Steve might’ve thought. If anything, it makes him press in harder, practically crawling on top of Steve’s lap on the narrow windowsill.

Until the tinny ringing of Janelle Monáe’s _Pink_ rings out through the room, loud.

Steve jerks back, mouth bruised and tingling, eyes wide. “Um.”

There’s a beat of silence -- or rather, Janelle going, _pink like the folds of your brain, crazy --_ and then Billy’s pushing back, going, “I should probably get that.”

Billy’s warmth disappears fast, leaving Steve feeling cold by the window, joint still burning in his hand.

“ _What_ , shitbird?” Billy says, at the phone.

Steve stares, for a moment, mouth suddenly dry. He feels too tight for his own skin and too hot for it, too.

He drags on the blunt one last time before stubbing it out in the ashtray he keeps on the sill. He stumbles to his feet and tries to pretend he can't feel Billy's eyes on him before he escapes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

***

Steve’s cozy in bed, sound asleep under a duvet and a quilt and some sort of faux fur throw, when something rouses him.

He’s never been a _great_ sleeper, but he usually sleeps pretty decently after getting as high as he did earlier. And as drunk.

It had been a little hard to _fall_ asleep, head to preoccupied with thoughts of Billy, but eventually sleep took ahold, and it had been _fine_ , until the bed jostles next to him and cold air slips underneath all the covers.

It had been _fine_ because they hadn't talked about it when Steve got out of the bathroom. Fine because Steve had walked Billy down the hall to the guest room he'd be staying in. Fine because Steve turned tail and left as quickly as he could and crawled into bed before he could make _more_ a fool of himself.

But Steve turns over at the hint of cold, makes a small sound at the disturbance, and then goes very still when he realizes Billy's slipped right into bed with him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes wide, because he kinda thought Billy would be too mad or grossed out or pissed off to actually _try_ this.

“Uh, sleeping with you, Sherlock?” Billy says, making a face. Like he's wide awake, and has been for a while. Maybe he never fell asleep at all.

“Oh,” Steve says, blinking and blinking again, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders.

It's only then that Billy falters.

“Is -- that okay?”

“Yeah, that's-- fine.” Steve says, huddling under the blankets. “Just stop letting all the cold air in.”

So Billy does. The second he's under the blankets it's too hot, too _close_. Like there's not enough air.

“This fine?” Billy asks.

Steve has to clear his throat, shifting under the blanket, his toes hitting Billy's calf. His bed is big, but they're nearly flush.

“Yeah. It's fine. Are you fine?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. And there's something hesitant about it, but Steve can't bring himself to _ask_. “It's good. I'm good.”

“Warm enough?” Steve asks because suddenly he needs to worry about the comfort of someone else. “Need more pillows?”

Billy laughs, a low little chuckle. “I'm good, Harrington. Don't worry about me.”

“You're in my bed,” Steve says. “I have to worry about you.”

“Well, don't,” Billy tells him, like it's easy. “I made sure to crack my door so that daddy dearest can walk past it in the morning and see that I'm not there.”

Steve stifles a snort into his blankets, grinning so wide his _face_ hurts. It’s a good distraction, and hard not to be delighted at the mental image. “You didn't.”

“You want me to go _fix_ it?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve says, reaching out and catching his wrist before he can move. “He's just gonna be a _bitch_ at breakfast.”

“Do you _want_ that? Because I can also be a...picture-perfect boyfriend. If you want that.”

Steve falters. He knows there's something there, along with Billy's admission of his own dad _smacking him around_ , and he sneaks a little closer, in the dark, warmed by the offer.

“I wouldn't be dating you if you were picture-perfect,” Steve says. “I don't like you because you're someone my dad will like.”

“Yeah, well,” Billy says.

Then, he yawns. Slow and lazy, like a big cat.

“Get some sleep,” Steve whispers. “Tomorrow's gonna be a long day.”

“Yeah, it is,” Billy says. “But Christmas break is only so long.”

It sounds like something Billy’s told himself before.

“And we can always go to town,” Steve says. “Hit up the old stomping grounds.”

“Ooh, _Downtown Hawkins_ ,” Billy says. “Livin’ big.”

“What, you want me to take you to the big city and wine'n dine you?”

“You’d do that?” Billy says, and his voice sounds _tired_. Sleepy.

Steve falters and then presses a little closer, shuddering like he's cold. “If that's what you want.”

“C’mere,” Billy says. “You cold, pretty boy?”

“Uh huh,” Steve says, nodding, even though he's lying through his teeth.

Billy just hums, and slides the rest of the way toward Steve, closing the gap between them, pulling Steve into his warm, warm arms.

“Delicate like a flower,” Billy says. “Good thing I’m here to take care of you.”

Steve huffs, his face pressed to Billy's throat, totally _encompassed_ by him. “I'm not _delicate_.”

“No,” Billy laughs. “You’re really not. But you wanna let me pretend for a sec?”

Steve lets out a soft sound, fingers tentative under the blankets, finding skin and skin and skin. Steve's not surprised that Billy's half naked. He is surprised that he's curled up with Steve like this.

“Sure,” Steve breathes. “I can pretend for a second.”

And Billy doesn’t seem to _care_ that Steve’s pushing his hands up Billy’s spine. Instead, he just fists his fingers into Steve’s cotton shirt and lets it lie.

Steve shifts, wriggling against him until Billy tightens his grip enough that Steve has to go still.

Just like that, steady in Billy's grip, Steve is lulled back to sleep.

***

Morning comes with blue light painted across Steve's bed and Billy Hargrove warm beside him. Steve's still all wrapped up, like Billy didn't want to let him go in the middle of the night.

It makes him hum, pleased and contented, and nuzzle in closer-- his nose pressing up under Billy's jaw.

Billy makes a little noise in his throat, sleepy and happy. Like he’s dreaming something real nice.

Steve hopes he is. Hopes it's the best dream Billy ever had-- mostly so he doesn't have to feel so guilty about being so happy, right here, right now.

Somewhere, though, one of their phones buzzes.

Steve groans and tightens his hold.

Billy doesn’t fucking _stir_.

The phone buzzes again.

Billy twitches.

“Is that you or me?” Steve asks, when it buzzes again, and Billy groans.

“Donno,” Billy says.

It keeps buzzing, like someone’s calling. And yeah, that’s _definitely_ Billy’s phone, because the buzzing doesn’t sound quite like Steve’s phone.

“Can you get that?” Billy grumbles, lips against Steve’s neck.

Steve shivers, eyes fluttering open, and he reaches for his bedside table when as Billy tightens his arms around him. He grunts, flailing a little, a finds Billy's phone with his fingertips, dragging it close.

Blindly, he presses it to his ear. “Hello?”

“ _Hell-- wait, who the fuck is this_?” hisses the voice on the other side of the phone. A girl’s voice.

“Steve,” he mumbles. “Is this an emergency, or can I hang up?”

“Steve, like Steve _Harrington?”_

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, eyes half closing again. “Imma hang up, now.”

“Wait, _wait_ ,” the girl says. And then, “It's Max.”

“Tell her she's a shitbird,” Billy murmurs against Steve's neck.

Steve shudders. “Billy says you're a shitbird.”

“Okay, well tell Billy he's an _asshole_ for leaving me to do Christmas _alone_ with Neil and my mom. Because now _I_ have to explain why he's not here, and if I know where he is.”

“Tell ‘em he had a hot date invite him home for the holidays, and feel free to come over and escape if you, like, wanna. But I'm keeping Billy hostage,” Steve says, groaning when Billy shifts enough that the blankets slip down. “Bitch, it's _cold_ , _jesus_ \--”

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Max breathes into the phone. “Are you -- no way. No _way_. There's like, not enough coffee in the world to make up for this happening before nine am. Tell me you guys aren't _actually_ together.” The last part is hissed out, like she's trying to keep quiet.

Like Billy told her what was going on. Which -- maybe he did.

“Together? No.” Steve mumbles, huffing and turning over, meeting Billy's sleepy gaze as he tugs the blankets up over his shoulders again. “In bed, trying to sleep? Yes. Could you fuck off, now, Max?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Max says. Then, “Tell Billy he's a _dumbass_.”

Then, she hangs up on him.

“She says you're a dumbass,” Steve says, tossing the phone somewhere over his shoulder.

Billy just laughs, hot air escaping against Steve's neck. “She's right. Such a fucking dumbass.”

It's weird. In the mornings, before he's caffeinated and while he's still sluggish with sleep, Billy is _cuddly_.

Not that Steve _minds_. It's fucking _cold_ in his room, right now, and Billy is like a _furnace._

Steve tucks in closer, humming, eyes falling shut.

“Less talking, more sleeping.” Steve says.

“Aren't your parents going to be pissed we’re still in bed?” Billy asks, but he _already_ sounds like he's halfways asleep again, so.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, frowning as he hides his face in the mess of Billy's curls.

He knows if he wants to avoid his mother's irritation and passive aggressive comments, he should get up and get dressed before going downstairs and finding something to clean. He knows if he wants to avoid his dad's lecture later, he'll linger around the house all day and find things to fix or clean so he doesn't have to pay their housekeeper to do it.

Still, he buries in closer to Billy and pretends he won't have to do any of it.

Because this moment, in all its warmth and comfort, is kinda _worth_ that.

“At my house,” Billy says. “I gotta get up at six, make coffee, make breakfast, and mow the lawn before my dad’s up. I mean, not every day with the lawn, but way too often. No one's lawn needs to be that perfect.”

Steve grunts and winds his arms around him.

“My mom'll throw a tizzy if I'm in bed past nine-- even if she's still in bed-- she'll blast music through the house. Like, some terrible opera shit, loud enough that the neighbors can hear.” Steve sighs, toying with one of Billy's curls. “She's a little better when there's guests, but… she does this thing? Like, she smiles and acts like nothing's wrong, but it's so _fake_ , so I ask what I can do around the house and… I dunno. Either she'll get mad that I even asked because I should just _know_ or she'll say shit like… like _oh, sweetie, are you sure you can handle it? It's a lot of work, honey, I'd hate to see you get frustrated when you can't finish_.”

“Jesus,” Billy says. “Parents are the fucking worst.” When he breathes out, a low sigh, it makes Steve shiver, a little. “When I have kids, man, I'm gonna try so hard not to fuck it up. I mean -- ya know. If I do, or whatever.”

“You want kids?” Steve asks, because it's a _surprise_ , honestly.

Billy shrugs after a second. “I mean, yeah, maybe?”

And he sounds a little _embarrassed_.

“Huh,” Steve says, shifting a little, fluffing up the pillow by his head. “I can weirdly picture that.”

Another shrug. “I just want a chance to do it better. You know?”

Steve hums again. “Yeah, me too.”

“Mm. Stay at home dad Steve,” Billy says, a little joking, a little warm. Teasing.

Steve snorts. “Yep. I'll stay at home and dote on the kids while my husband goes and changes the world one policy at a time.”

Billy doesn't laugh, but he hums a little and falls quiet for a second. A beat longer than he usually would.

“Bet he's real fuckin’ handsome, huh?” Billy says, after a little while.

“Yeah, but not as hot as me.” Steve says. “I'm the trophy husband. I have to look prettier.”

 _That_ pulls a laugh out of Billy, sleepy and low. “Hell fucking yeah. Good thing your genes say you're still gonna look good when you get older, too.”

“It's a curse, this pretty face.”

“Mm, totally. You'd be in _all_ the tabloids.”

Steve laughs this time, then gasping, as if he's scandalized. “ _Mr. Steve Hargrove, caught, en flagrante with mysterious stranger. The entire story and William's reaction on page nine.”_

“Mm, who's the mysterious stranger who's hotter than me? Sounds like baseless clickbait.”

“Total clickbait,” Steve confirms. “I'm a very loyal spouse.”

“Uh huh,” Billy says. “Is it Nancy? Or _artsy ex-lover_ _Jonathan?”_

Steve's nose wrinkles up. “Neither.”

Then, after a moment, he cringes.

“Though, I wouldn't put it past Jonathan to sell all those pictures he had me pose for.”

“Get someone else to take classy nudes of you. Publish an art book. Flood the market and make ‘em worthless,” Billy says.

And jeez, if he doesn’t have a head for politics already.

“You offering?”

“Obviously,” Billy says. “But I’m no fuckin’ professional.”

“Neither is Jonathan,” Steve says. “And I'm an art major. I can tell whether it's tasteful or tasteless.”

“So, you think I’d take tasteful nudes of you?” Billy asks, laughing.

“I think you'd _try,”_ Steve says, biting on his cheek to keep from laughing too. “But I’ve seen your insta, remember?”

“Yeah, and did you like what you saw?” Billy's voice is low, slow.

Despite the cool air of the room, Steve suddenly feels _uncomfortably_ warm. He shifts, clearing his throat, and nods a little, even as he says:

“I've seen better.”

“Have you?” Billy asks, and then he pulls back and stretches, on his back. Steve can imagine it, under the covers, Billy stretching out smooth like a cat, muscles taught as he yawns.

Steve hums because he can't really make his tongue work for a second. Billy's eyes are heavy and half lidded when they meet Steve's.

There's a hint of skin, golden and warm, and Steve's mouth _waters_.

He sways a little forward-- and falters as, suddenly, music blasts through the house.

Cringing away, Steve covers his ears and _groans_. “Fucking _great_.”

“Wow,” Billy says. “You really weren't kidding.”

But he rolls out of bed like he's used to it, like he can get up and be awake at the drop of a hat.

“C’mon, pretty boy. You think maybe we can wash your mom’s car?”

“It's thirty degrees out,” Steve mutters, pushing out of bed, and padding over to his closet.

“Yeah, and? I run hot, Harrington.”

Billy pulls out some clothes and starts changing into them, unconcerned that Steve's _right_ there.

“Well, I _don't_. I'll just sit back and sip mimosas with my mom while _you_ do it,” Steve says, stripping down to his underwear and pulling up a pair of jeans.

Billy leans back against the door and watches Steve, fingers lazy at the buttons of what looks like a very soft flannel. He must've brought a change of clothes in last night when he snuck in.

“Move your hips a little. God, you _suck_ at strip teases, baby,” Billy says. “You gotta keep up the visual interest.”

Steve goes red, feels it burn practically down to his navel, but he lifts a brow and pulls a big warm sweater over his head. “You think you've _earned_ a strip tease?”

“I kept you warm all night,” he says.

And it's true. Billy slept like a goddamn octopus, wrapped around Steve the second he fell asleep until he could barely _breathe_. And sure, Steve could’ve woke him up, could’ve made him stop -- but maybe he didn’t _want_ to.

Steve smiles, sweet as pie, just the way his mom taught him. He pads over and takes Billy's shirt front in his hands, working the buttons up, one by one, letting his fingers drag against skin. Their knees bump. Steve looks up through his lashes.

“And you think that's _enough_?” Steve asks.

Billy's cheeks go a little _red_.

But he doesn't falter. Just smiles all pretty, all wide.

“We have an _active_ sex life, baby. I blow you, like, _all_ the time, you know.”

And then, of course, he licks his lips.

Steve's eyes narrow, but he nods all the same, playing along as he leans into Billy's space, hands on his abdomen. “That's _true._ But that particular favor is always _enthusiastically_ returned.”

“Oh, _is_ it? I donno, baby. You really got more of an oral fixation than _me?_ ”

“I love being on my knees.”

Billy makes a noise, look faltering, breaking character as he _laughs_. And then he's grabbing Steve and tugging him away, so Billy's not so close anymore. Even if he's still red, still flushed.

“Don't give me a stiffy before breakfast, Harrington.”

“That _would_ be a shame,” Steve says, grinning, and side-stepping around him. “C'mon, _baby._ She'll turn up the music louder of we wait much longer.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says.

He follows Steve out of the room without a fuss. And it's not like Steve's _looking_ , but he's pretty goddamn sure he sees Billy _adjust_ himself as he closes the door behind them.


	6. do you see what i see? (two boys going at it in a camaro on christmas eve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _coming out in a camaro._

It takes an depressingly short time to fall into an easy rhythm.

They wake up; do chores that the Harringtons are probably paying other people to do; drive around to their old haunts; suffer through a passive-aggressive dinner; sit out by the pool, while pretending to steal a few kisses; retire to their separate rooms; and then snuggle up to each other under the cover of the night, so that they look disgustingly enamored of each other, enough so that they can’t bear to spend the night apart.

Rinse and repeat.

Again and again.

It’s easy.

It’s _stupid_ easy.

Billy’s getting _real_ comfortable cuddling up next to Steve every night. Getting real familiar waking up curled around him like they’re two parts of one whole.

It’s getting hard to not just roll on top of Steve and kiss him awake.

Yesterday, Billy had been near _seconds_ away from just grinding up against Steve’s thigh, half-awake, and saying “ _Merry Christmas Adam”_ against Steve’s neck. Instead, he'd ripped the covers off, flooding them both with cold air, before he had slapped Steve on the ass and retreated to the shower, the same greeting sang out before he shut the door. The gentle _thwap_ of a pillow hitting the door had been good, but it wasn’t quite as _fulfilling_.

This morning, though, Billy wakes up with a headache. It’s _probably_ got something to do with the fact that they drank _way_ too much last night, given that it was the night before Christmas Eve. But. Whatever. It’s not like Billy’s admitting _fault_ about that. Headaches are just something that happen to innocent people. So, instead of being _cute_ when Steve starts shifting around, Billy just holds him tight and buries his face in the back of Steve’s neck, hiding from the light coming in through the sheer curtains.

“Make the light stop,” he mumbles.

Steve huffs, Billy's found that he does that a lot, instead of _sighing_ , and shifts around in his arms. “I gotta _pee_.”

But Billy's not letting him go. Just tightens his arms and digs his fingers in at Steve's ribs.

Steve huffs again.

“You can _wait_ ,” Billy says. “Don't wanna get up yet.”

Steve wiggles around a bit more and then lets out a big breath. “ _Fine.”_

“It's Christmas Eve,” Billy says. “And your mom's not even blasting music at us yet.”

Steve hums. “I'm as shocked as you are. She's probably hungover.”

“ _I'm_ hungover,” Billy grumbles.

“Aw, _baby_ , you want me to kiss it better?” Steve asks, and Billy can't see his face, but he knows he's got one of those _insufferable_ pouts on.

“Ya wanna?” Billy finds himself asking. “Or are you like saving up for a Christmas blowjob?”

“Dick,” Steve mumbles, and he sounds _genuinely_ disgruntled.

Billy lets it lie for a sec, giving Steve a bit of quiet to stop being _quite_ so not-quite-awake yet before he tries to _repair_ what he's done. At least a _little_.

“Look, I don't have to say shit like that if it pisses you off.”

“It _doesn't_ ,” Steve says, and now he sounds tired _and_ pissy. “But I'd like to, like, _remind you_ that I actually _like_ dick, okay? I'm not _pretending_ to be attracted to you, so.”

And that -- yeah, okay, it fucking _smarts_. A bit like a slap to the face when you’re totally unprepared.

It’s super easy to push back from Steve, suddenly _hot_ , wanting the cold air of a space that the two of them aren’t occupying. He pushes the blankets off and clenches his fists a couple times, like it helps him _think_ and not like he’s trying to work off some sort of emotional pain of Steve saying he’s not _attracted_ to him.

Because _sure_ , Steve doesn’t _know_ Billy likes guys, but it’s sure fucking felt like they’ve been flirting these last few days. It had felt like a _lot_ of things, honestly.

Steve huffs and pushes up next to him, his hair everywhere, his eyes bloodshot. Hungover, just like Billy.

“You don't get to _no homo_ , now, _just_ because I said I think you're hot.” Steve says, shoving the covers off of his legs, ambling out of bed like a deer unused to his own limbs. “So, don't get all huffy at me.”

“I’m not all -- wait no,” Billy says, dizzy and headachey and confused. “You _just said_ you weren’t attracted to me. You said you _weren’t pretending to_ \--” Billy grunts, closing his eyes for a second as the dots connect. “Oh.”

Then, he chucks a pillow at Steve.

“ _Hey!”_ Steve ducks, batting ineffectually at the pillow. “What the fuck, Billy?”

“I thought you were saying I wasn’t hot.”

Which like, _yikes_ , sounds a little too nail-on-the-head.

He has a headache and he _just_ woke up, so sue him.

“What, you need it fucking _engraved?_ You're _so_ hot, you're _so_ sexy,” Steve says, throwing the pillow back at him, rolling his eyes, tone flat but cheeks pink. “I want you, I need you, take me right now.”

“Look, everyone wants to hear that they're hot, you dick.” Billy tosses the pillow back. Not like Billy was just _personally_ hurt that Steve might not find him sexy.

“You _know_ you're hot,” Steve says, throwing the pillow at Billy's face.

“Well _yeah_ ,” Billy says. “But that doesn’t mean _you_ think I’m hot.”

“I _obviously_ think you're hot!”

“Not _obviously_ ,” Billy says. “Why would I know that?”

Steve's mouth opens and then clicks shut again. He seems to deflate a little, shoulders slumping, hands falling useless at his sides.

“Nevermind,” he says. “I'm gonna shower.”

And yeah, Billy’s got _no_ idea what he’s supposed to say to that. So he just pulls the covers up around his waist and watches as Steve grabs his clothes.

It’s only as Steve’s pulling the door to the en-suite closed that Billy somehow finds the balls to shout, “I think you’re hot shit too, Harrington.”

There’s a pause, and then Billy hears the lock click closed.

***

You'd think it would be hard to avoid someone in a small house on Christmas Eve, but Steve somehow manages it anyway.

It's not that Billy doesn't _see_ him, but they're too busy to talk, too engaged in doing other things around the house.

Billy even gets roped into making a _pie_.

It's like, mid _afternoon_ , before Billy even gets to really talk to Steve, and he's _pretty_ sure that's only because Steve is on a glass of wine that is at _least_ his second and his parents have finally retreated to the living room to do whatever, leaving Steve and Billy alone in the kitchen.

“I can't believe they're throwing this fucking Christmas party,” Steve says, and he's eyeing the bottle of wine on the counter; his mouth is stained red. “Last year, my mom complained the entire time when no one was on time and two people brought the same hors d'oeuvres.”

“We could ditch, if you wanted to,” Billy offers.

He's only on his first glass, swirling the crimson liquid in it so that it catches the light.

“My dad might _actually_ verbally slaughter me,” Steve says, knocking the rest of his glass back like it isn't the most expensive wine Billy's ever had.

“Still. I'm meant to be, like, a bad influence, right? Who would I be if I didn't steal you away?”

Steve glances at him and then looks away just as quick. “Where would we _go_?”

“Uh,” Billy says. “Donno. The quarry or something? Lover’s Lake?”

Steve drums his fingers on the counter.

Down the hall, the doorbell rings. Steve winces.

“Fuck it,” he says and grabs a full bottle of wine before turning to Billy. “Get me outta here.”

They escape out the back before the first guests even step inside. There's no hiding the rumble of the Camaro’s engine, but Billy can't help but hoot once they peel out of the neighborhood and hit the deserted roads, like they somehow managed to sneak away.

“Jesus,” Billy laughs. “Can't believe you let me.”

“I'll throw you to the wolves the second my dad gives me _the look_ ,” Steve tells him, almost idly, sipping wine straight out of the bottle as they cruise along. “Music?”

“Tell him it was all my idea. He can hate me.” He shrugs. “Nothing _bad_. Your taste is questionable, pretty boy.”

Steve snorts and uses the adapter to plug his phone in. He searches for a moment, and then the slow, low beat starts playing. It's a lazy, hazy beat with a popsynth sound, but a few seconds in, a quick, steady rap starts up.

If Billy had to guess, he'd say it was Steve's _get fucked up_ playlist.

“This better not be your playlist for Byers, pretty boy,” Billy says.

It's kind of grey out, and the air is still. Not quite like it's thinking of snowing, but like it wouldn't surprise everyone if it suddenly _did_.

“It's not,” Steve says, cheeks a little ruddy, frowning at the label on the wine bottle as he picks at it.

Billy knows it's not, that Steve doesn’t still have or listen to a playlist about _Byers,_ of all people, but sometimes it's fun, teasing Steve. Prodding him till he goes all defensive.

He slows down as they approach the turnoff for the quarry. Impulsively, he decides to keep driving to Lover’s Lake, instead.

“You doing alright there, baby?” Billy asks.

“Peachy,” Steve says, knocking back a mouthful from the bottle, and the music rolls over into _Redbone_.

Steve glances at him again. So quick Billy thinks he imagined it.

“You having second thoughts about me kidnapping you?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes as they pull into park.. “You bring any weed?”

“Always,” Billy says, fishing around in his pocket to pull out a baggie, joint already in it. He tosses it onto Steve's lap as his tires hit gravel. “You want me to turn around? Get you back to where you can be your daddy's prize pony?”

Steve's nose wrinkles up. “Don't be a dick.”

“I'm not _being_ a dick. I'm offering to drive you back. I mean, I could blow you first, if that makes the whole thing easier to swallow. Pun-fucking-intended.”

The worst part is is that he’s not even kidding. Eyes on the road, he knows he's dead serious right now.

“Shut _up_ ,” Steve says, and he sounds like he _means_ it. “It's not _funny_ , okay? And we're not around other people, so stop it.”

Something goes tight in his chest.

“I'm not _being_ funny,” Billy says, and he feels warm and stupid and _reckless,_ because Steve's upset and Billy fucking hates it. And, like, maybe he can fix it.

“Well, you're not being _serious_ ,” Steve snaps back.

Billy clenches his teeth and speeds them into the dirt patch in front of the lake. The car skids to a stop, kicking up dust and debris into the cold air.

He takes a breath, eyes on the lake.

His heart is _pounding_ in his chest.

“This is legitimately _not_ the way I pictured coming out to you,” Billy says, fingers still clenched into fists on the wheel.

Steve's breath _catches_.

When Billy dares to look, Steve's eyes are on him, wide. His lips are parted. His face is still pink.

“ _That's_ not funny, _either_.” Steve rasps, eyes darting over his face, like he's _daring_ him to lie.

“I'm not joking. I didn't know how to -- I was fucking sca--,” Billy says, thumbing open his seat belt with a click like that’ll free him from the clenching in his chest. “I didn't tell you, and then it always seemed like it was too late, and I'm sorry.”

“You--” Steve falters, clears his throat, and then tries again. “But you-- I never see you with guys. I-- You didn't _say_ anything--”

“Look, the last person I actually _came out_ to was my dad. It didn't go so hot. So, I didn't want to fuck up my time in the frat and I didn't wanna _do_ that again.” He swallows, shaking his head. “By the time I saw how everyone treated you it was kinda -- way too late. Like I’d been fucking...lying. And I'm not -- lying. I don't talk about screwing chicks. Everyone just assumed and I don't -- I never corrected them.”

Steve makes a face like he's biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt. He shifts, twisting to face him better, and straightens out his shoulders.

“I'm pissed you didn't say anything,” Steve says. “But-- thank you. You didn't _have_ to come out to me and that's… yeah. It's not-- easy.”

Billy laughs, even though it's not _funny_. “I fucking _should_ have. We’ve been making out for weeks. And that made the whole thing _worse_ , like _jesus_. I should have. I should've told you.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, his throat working, and his eyes drop to Billy's mouth and then dart back up. “Um. Yeah.”

“So,” Billy says, tonguing his lips. “There's that.”

“There's that,” Steve mumbles, shifts again, and swallows. “So, when you said you didn't mind making out with me…”

Billy goes all warm.

Sure, he had words a second ago, but now it's like they've all dried up.

“It's good. I wasn't lying to you,” he finally settles on.

Because _I'm gay, surprise_ is already a lot, and Billy doesn't know how to tack on, _and also, I want you bad_ to the end of it without sounding like an exceptionally predatory _ass_.

“Oh,” Steve says, nodding slow.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Look, gimme a drink of that.”

Steve hands over the bottle without a word.

It's wine -- expensive wine at that -- but Billy gulps it like it's water, like he's parched.

“So,” he says, feeling flushed. “I wasn't really kidding. If like, a blowjob would make that whole party thing more tolerable…”

Steve makes a small, choking sound, big doe eyes impossibly _bigger_ as he stares at him.

For a second, Billy feels a rush of humiliation. Feels it prickle and burn along his scalp. He tastes rejection, bitter on his tongue, and opens his mouth to spit it right back when Steve lurches suddenly into his space.

His lips, when they meet Billy's, are warm and open and _hungry_. It's a little clumsy, their noses knocking, but Steve's hands slide along his jaw and angle his head enough so that he can dip his tongue past Billy's teeth like he's trying to chase the taste of wine into his mouth.

Steve's still buckled in, so Billy finds himself pushing Steve back, crawling over the center console just so he can clumsily straddle Steve in the passenger seat. And like, _yeah,_ maybe it's a little too forward, but god, Billy's wanted to do this -- no pretense, no show -- for _ages._

Steve _moans_. His hands drop to Billy’s thighs and then run up, fingers digging in a kneading, mouth hot and open as Billy presses him back into the seat.

Billy fumbles until his fingers grab the crank of the seat, pulling until Steve falls backward and Billy goes with him, unrelenting in the way he licks into Steve's mouth.

The adrenaline has him dizzy, has him high on the feeling of _acceptance_ , of something he had been _dreading_ being over, finally.

“God,” Billy murmurs against Steve's lips, fingers pushing under his shirt to get at warm, smooth skin. “You're so fucking hot.”

Steve _shudders_ , hips bucking up under him, a ragged little gasp escaping between them. “ _Jesus_ , Billy--”

“Yeah, baby?” Billy says, breaking off Steve's mouth to kiss down his neck, his throat.

Steve arches a little, his head lulling over, his mouth red and hanging open. His fingers curl at Billy’s hips, tugging him closer, as he squirms under him.

“Should’ve told me _sooner_ ,” Steve hisses, grunting when Billy’s teeth find a spot near his pulse, eyes fluttering.

Billy's already hard, aching in his nice khakis, but he doesn't feel _bad_ grinding against Steve, because Steve's hard _too_.

“Yeah? Make me regret it, pretty boy,” Billy says.

Steve falters at that. He jerks a little, like Billy’s physically _hurt_ him, lips pursing up and hands going still.

“Um,” he clears his throat, breath still heavy. “I don’t, uh… I’m not actually _mad_.”

And, okay, that's a _little_ surprising, because Steve gets mad about _everything._ So, like, Billy's just kinda learned to roll with it.

“Then,” Billy says carefully, “make me regret it _anyway.”_

Steve stares up at him for a second, and then surges up and catches his mouth. He gets his fingers in Billy’s hair and _pulls_ , biting at his lower lip, dragging Billy’s hips down with a hand on the curve of his ass, and rutting _up_.

And _yeah_ , Billy thinks, that's the fucking stuff.

He groans and grinds down, cock grinding against Steve's. Even through fabric, it feels _awesome_ , but Billy can't help but want _more._

“Wanna blow you. Lemme. Lemme make it up to you, baby,” he breathes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve hisses, pupils blown out when Billy meets his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, please, I want your mouth on me so _bad_.”

Billy's not a _small_ guy. But he crams himself into the footwell like he is, shimmying down until he's half on Steve's lap, knees on the floor, pawing open Steve's fly like he's gagging for it.

“God,” Billy says, after fishing Steve's cock out, after getting his fingers around it. “What a fucking _monster._ ”

Steve’s cock _kicks_ in his hand, hot to the touch and already weeping precome. Steve hisses and writhes a little. He grips at the door and fists at Billy’s hair.

“Scared you can’t take it?” Steve asks.

Billy looks at Steve's cock and then up at Steve, giving the best goddamn bedroom eyes he can as he strokes along Steve's length.

“Baby, I could deepthroat you. And, if I had some lube, I could ride you four _hours_. Don't question my dedication, pretty boy.”

With that, Billy licks over the tip of him, sucking the head into his mouth just to tease.

Steve lets out a high, breathless sound. His head flops back, his mouth hanging open, and his thighs splay out like an invitation.

He’s thick and _long_ \-- though, Billy definitely got him on _girth_ \-- and even with just a couple inches in his mouth, Steve’s a heavy, perfect weight on his tongue. Tangy and a bit musky, too, the taste and the sensation of it going right to his head.

Steve’s fingers bunch up in his hair, pulling him off, and when Billy looks up, Steve’s got eyes so dark he could _drown_ in them.

“You said make you regret it,” Steve breathes, chest heaving, shirt rucked up to show the flex of his abdomen as he waits.

Billy _grunts_. Honestly, he's pictured himself here, on his knees, sucking Steve off, but he never thought it would actually _happen_.

And now that it is? Billy doesn't wanna _wait_.

He pulls forward, but Steve's got him by the hair, holding him tight. Billy’s mouth waters and heat flashes in his gut, body _always_ ready for a good fight. And _always_ turned on when it's Steve on the other side of the ring. What can he say -- he's _weak_.

“Do I gotta say _pretty please_?” Billy says.

“No,” Steve says, grinning, a little lopsided, a little _delightfully_ devious. “You gotta open up and take it. Because I’ve been dreaming about fucking your mouth quiet for _years_.”

Billy _moans._

He can't imagine a hotter fucking thing.

Slowly, he lets his mouth drop open, tongue lolling out _just_ a bit. To show Steve how much he's drooling for it.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, reaching out to thumb at Billy’s lower lip, coming away slick with spit. “Yeah, okay. Pinch me if you need to stop.”

And then he’s dragging Billy forward, by the hair, knees spreading a little bit more. He’s got the base of his own cock in hand, guiding it into Billy’s mouth, and he brings him down, down, _down_ onto the length of it once Billy’s got his lips wrapped around him. Presses in halfway before guiding Billy back almost all the way off, and then doing it again.

And then doing it again.

And then pressing _deeper_. Groaning and watching the whole time.

And okay, if Billy didn't know what the fuck he was doing, it would be way too much. Too big, too fast, too deep.

But he's been dreaming about this for forever. He’s old hat at this. And it's _perfect_.

He groans around Steve's cock and digs his fingers into Steve's thighs, urging for _more, more, more_.

The only thing that would be better than having Steve's cock in his mouth would be to have it in his ass, but there's always later. There's always _more._

Steve’s steady with it. Doesn’t push beyond what Billy can take, but certainly takes what he _wants_. Fucks forward a little, too, with little lurches of his hips. He’s gasping, soft and slow, filling Billy’s mouth perfectly.

There’s drool and precome sliding down his chin by the time Steve starts to push deeper. He pulls Billy’s nearly all the way off, lets him catch a breath, and then drags him down until he’s hitting the back of his throat.

Billy gags a bit, because he always does when he’s getting used to it. Because he kinda _likes_ it too, kinda likes the feeling of someone being so deep his body can’t help but rebel.

Steve’s _good_ at it, and it’s easy to relax into it, to the idea that Steve’s _got him_. That Steve’s in charge of this.

It’s fucking hot, to think that he _owes_ Steve this. Even though Billy knows that, in reality, he doesn’t owe Steve anything.

Steve cups the side of his face, thumb working at the joint in his jaw, pulling him off for a second and just catching his breath while Billy does, too. “Jesus, baby. You’re so fucking _good_.”

Drool drips lazily from his mouth as Steve holds his head back, fingers tight in Billy’s hair. It’s a firm grip, just enough to hurt a little bit, just enough to leave him wanting more.

Billy breathes heavily and licks his lips, knowing he’s a pretty picture panting at Steve’s feet. Normally, he’d be doing this during the night, not out of fear but usually just for timing, so he _knows_ it’s a special view Steve’s getting, right smack in the middle of the day like this.

“You gonna come down my throat?” Billy asks, voice _rough_.

“Or on your face,” Steve mumbles, like he’s _high_ , even though they haven’t _touched_ the weed. “Haven’t decided, yet.”

And that would be the _worst_ idea, even though Billy absolutely has wet wipes in his glove box, because he’s not a _monster_ , but it’s so fucking _hot_ , too, the idea of Steve just marring him like that.

Billy leans forward until Steve’s fist tightens in his hair, stopping him from getting his mouth back on Steve’s dick. He laps out with his tongue though and gets the head of it, licking some precome back into his mouth, hungry for it.

“C’mon, baby,” Billy breathes out. “Please. Fuck my face. C’mon.”

Steve groans, sitting up a bit more, and dragging Billy closer. He bucks forward, into his mouth, filling it with his cock and not stopping. Pushing further and further until Billy’s throat protests.

Then he drags back off and does it again. Sets a pace that’s not quite brutal but is close to it.

It would be _real_ embarrassing if Billy were to come from this.

But.

God, he feels like he could, like all he needs is a quick press of his palm before he’d be coming straight in his pants like a teen.

His mouth waters and he groans around Steve’s dick, choking as Steve thrusts down particularly hard, fingers moving up to grab at Steve’s ass, to keep him going, to encourage him. To let him know Billy’s having the goddamn time of his _life_.

Steve’s gotten sloppy with it. He’s panting like he’s desperate for air, mouth open, eyes rolling back. He bucks in, fucks Billy’s throat, letting out these gorgeous, high, breathless sounds as he gets closer and closer.

“Billy,” he gasps, fingers tightening. “Billy, I’m gonna come.”

Billy just _moans_ like he wants it. Which isn’t hard -- he _does_ want it. He wants Steve to shoot hot and sticky down his throat, wants him to come shouting Billy's name. He wants -- a lot of things.

He moans and grabs at Steve's legs, fingers digging into skin, urging him on, urging him forward and deeper and harder.

He hears Steve's breath falter and go totally ragged. Hears him choke on a moan of his name and shove in deep, until he's buried to the hilt, cock pulsing against his tongue as he spills out into Billy's mouth.

Billy feels it before he tastes it, spunk hot in his throat as he swallows it down. He laps it up, tongue licking over Steve as Billy works him through it, as he teases Steve with his tongue until he's gasping and tugging at Billy's hair.

Billy comes up laughing, grinning, licking his lips.

“So fuckin’ hot,” Billy tells him, dizzy with it.

Steve groans, petting through his hair. “Get the fuck up here.”

Billy climbs up, legs like fucking jelly as he straddles Steve, knees sore, throat aching. Steve wraps him up, kisses him hard, and hums.

He's sweet-- touches him soft and all over, goes for his belt buckle.

Billy _pants_ , breath ragged.

“C’mon, baby, _please_ ,” Billy breathes out, when Steve won’t move _fast_ enough.

Steve drags a hand up his back, cradling the base of his head, fingers pulling at his hair to angle Billy's head back. His teeth are a delight at his jaw.

“I got you,” he says, and then his hand is on Billy cock, stroking, thumbing under the head of it.

And Billy _melts_. He goes loose against Steve, shifting so he's closer, back arching, moan tumbling from his lips.

“Baby,” Billy breathes out, feeling good, feeling close already.

“Yeah, c'mon,” Steve says, kissing along his jaw, pumping over him, hand deft and warm and _perfect._ “C'mon, Billy, I want it. Wanna watch you come.”

“Get your fuckin’,” Billy pants out, so _close_ , but he _can’t_. “Shirt up. Shirt _up_ ,” he says, fingers clawing up at the tails of Steve’s shirt, untucking it from his pants, hiking it up over his torso so he has somewhere to come. So they don’t have to walk back into Steve’s house in a state that might _actually_ get them kicked out.

It’s barely even two seconds after Steve’s shirt is up around his nipples, held by Billy’s fingers and Steve’s spare hand, that he’s coming, orgasm hitting him fast, Steve stroking him through it.

He grunts, eyes half closed, as he paints pale skin with his come.

Steve milks it out of him, panting and _watching_ , tongue touching to his lower lip like he wants to _taste_ him. He stays there, like that, under Billy, face flush, skin covered in sweat and come, until Billy can catch his breath.

“Gorgeous,” he says, and then reels Billy down for a sloppy kiss that’s all tongue.

Billy wants to pass out, he feels so good. He melts into the kiss, fingers finding their way into Steve’s hair, leaving Steve to hold his shirt out of Billy’s mess.

Steve hums against his mouth, shuddering under him, biting at his lower lip before pulling away.

“I wanna do that again,” he says.

“What, like _right_ now?” Billy says. “Because I’m gonna need like, _five_ minutes.”

Billy catches Steve in another kiss, lazy, slow. Steve laughs against his mouth.

“No,” he says. “But I'm looking forward to you riding me for _hours_.”

Billy _grunts,_ dick twitching at the fucking thought.

“Yes, god yes,” Billy says. “And then you can ride me.”

Steve groans. “Don't even. I'm spent. Stop talking.”

“No way,” Billy says, leaning forward to nip at Steve’s jaw. “Jesus, we should’ve been doing this for, like, _forever_.”

But eventually he pulls back and gets the wet wipes out of his glove box. He towels off Steve’s stomach, taking a personal kind of delight in the way that Steve flinches away from the cold -- and the way he leans into the warmth of Billy’s hand there, afterwards. He lets his fingers play with Steve’s happy trail, just _admiring_ for a moment before he leans back -- and then lights up the joint.

When Steve’s eyebrows go up, Billy just grins.

“What? We’re gonna have to go back to that stuffy party at _some_ point, and I’d rather be out of my mind when we do that, wouldn’t you?” he says.

Then, Billy takes a hit before leaning forward, waiting for Steve to offer up his mouth to breathe the smoke back out into.

This time, they kiss afterward.

***

When they pull back up to Steve's place, the party is in full swing. The driveway is packed, and it's a big driveway, so that's saying something.

Steve, next to him, has lost any and all of that lovely, lazy, pliant nature. He's started bouncing his leg and drumming his fingers, like he might jump out of his skin.

“It’ll be okay,” Billy tells him, and kind of _means_ it.

He gives Steve’s hand a squeeze across the central console. Steve's fingers twitch in his and he offers Billy a tight smile.

“Yeah. It'll be fine.”

“We don’t _have_ to go back. We could go get Chinese food somewhere. Go see a movie. Whatever you want.”

“It'll be worse,” Steve says. “If we don't go back.”

“Okay,” Billy says, pocketing his keys, undoing his belt. “Let’s charm the _shit_ out of these rich people.”

Steve huffs out something like a laugh. “How good is your ‘aw shucks’ game?”

They escape the car and head back around to the back of the house, figuring that they can at least pretend they were outside mingling with the smokers for longer than they _actually_ were outside.

“My _everything_ game is good, Harrington. Don’t you know that already?”

“I'm getting that, yeah,” Steve says and then loops his arm around Billy's waist. “This okay?”

“My mouth was on your dick a couple hours ago,” Billy says, quiet but emphatic. “ _Obviously_ this is fine.”

But he leans into it anyway, like maybe Steve needs the extra reassurance.

They round the back of the house, backyard lit up just as beautifully as the other night, except there’s _more_ expensive spot lights out, and more fairy lights, too. There’s music pouring out into the space through what Billy can only figure is an outdoor sound system, and there’s some guests milling around outside, thanks to the mild weather. It’s mostly men, given their attire, but there are some dedicated women smoking, and others who are perhaps just enjoying a moment away from the hustle and bustle and heat of the house.

Steve leads him over to a sparsely populated gazebo toward the back, at the far edge of the pool. He keeps his arm around him, fingers bunched up in his shirt, and smiles at the lingering by the stairs that lead up into the structure.

“You know,” Billy says, “It doesn’t count if we’re at the party and not _talking_ to anyone, right? Or are you hoping your parents will just assume we’ve been out here for forever?”

Not that Billy’s _complaining_. He’s always in for more time with Steve.

“Just the visual should be good,” Steve says. “They're pretty much of the _Steve should be seen and not heard_ mentality.”

“Yikes,” Billy says, but he’s happy to comply because it means he doesn’t have to talk to more assholes like Mr. Harrington, doesn’t have to pretend to be something he’s not. Instead, he can just linger in the gazebo with Steve, keeping him company, keeping him from imploding out of sheer loneliness.

Steve hums and presses closer. “Though, we'll probably be approached eventually.”

“Maybe we’ll get to talk to the rich lesbians again,” Billy says. “I like them.”

Steve laughs a little, still tight and reserved, but genuine. “I'm not surprised. Maggie is kinda cutthroat. Ellen's just nosy and hates anything with a penis.”

Billy just shrugs. “Pretty decent opinion of men, tbh.”

Steve's nose scrunches up. “Did you just text talk?”

“Uh, _yeah_?” Billy says. “That a problem, _pretty boy_?”

“You're so absurd,” Steve says, but his shoulders have gone easy and he's smiling.

“Yeah, but it’s fucking _endearing_ ,” Billy says. “And you’re into it.”

“I'm definitely _not_ ,” Steve says, and he sounds serious, but his face is pink again, like he's embarrassed.

“Uh huh,” Billy says. “Sure. Real convincing, Harrington.”

“Super not into you,” Steve says, eyes tracking a few people before he leans in, voice hushed in Billy's ear. “Definitely don't want your dick in my mouth, like, right now.”

And, _okay_ , that’s _definitely_ not where Billy thought this conversation was gonna go. He feels a little dizzy with it, knocked off balance with the sheer force of his want, desperate and overpowering. It’s like that time he and Harrington got into it, freshman year, behind the gym, the week before midterms. Arguing about _nothing_ , but getting some good punches in, nonetheless. Afterwards, they had both _laughed_ , feeling strangely lighter, like they’d gotten something out of their system that had been brewing for a while. One last bout of it before a truce.

“Yeah?” Billy says, leaning back, hands in his pockets, all casual. “Think you’d look pretty as hell with my cock in your mouth. On your knees, right here, where anyone could walk in on us. What would your daddy think?”

“Nothing good,” Steve says. “Unless you mean _you_ \-- in which case, I think you'd _like_ it.”

Billy feels heat pool in his gut at the suggestion. He takes another step closer and hooks his fingers into the belt on Steve’s pants and tugs, just a little. Trying to keep it from going _too_ far, even though, by god, he _wants_.

“Yeah?” Billy asks. “If we’re talking _that_ way, I think your daddy would be real fucking pleased with you.”

Steve lets out another breathless little laugh.

“Yeah?” he asks, leans in-- nice and close-- hands on Billy's waist. “You want me on my knees for you, _daddy_?”

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Billy says. It’s one thing to joke about, one thing to tease Steve about just to get him to blush all pretty. It’s another hearing Steve talk like that, voice all low, tone dirty as _hell_. “You trying for indecent exposure, baby?” Because his dick is starting to already strain forward, _hard as a rock_.

“Not _here_ ,” Steve says, and his eyes do a cursory look at all of the people lingering outside. “But for as long as this lasts, I'm gonna take full advantage.”

It dims the heat a little. The idea that there's a _deadline_ for all of this. That it could _stop_.

Billy's not positive that's what he means, but the thought of it, of this, coming to any kind of end, makes a heavy pit of _dread_ ball up in his stomach.

Like maybe, just _maybe_ , he thought that their moment in the car changed something. It changed the _rules_ , yeah -- but maybe not the _outcome_.

“I have an idea,” Steve says, eyes bright enough to distract him. “And it's really stupid. You interested?”

And, okay. Anything to not think about Christmas being _over_.

“Hit me with it,” Billy says.


	7. santa, daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _what's a christmas party without sneaking into your father's study to have dirty sex? probably not a party billy hargrove would attend, anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, hi, hello there -- there's very definitely daddy-kink in this chapter. just fyi.

Steve's half convinced this whole thing is a dream.

He leads Billy by the hand. Into the house, smiling and passing small talk with his parents’ friends. Past the parlor where his mother and father are entertaining. Up the stairs and down the hall to his dad's office.

Steve's buzzing the whole time. High off of Billy getting him off in the Camaro. Off of getting to watch Billy come after imagining it so many times. Off of the kisses that tasted like weed and expensive wine.

He doesn't ever want this to end, but he knows, after they leave his house the day after Christmas, it could very well all be over.

He hopes it won't be. But it might.

So, he wants as much of Billy as possible.

The den is dark when they enter. The only light comes in from the windows, leaving the room kinda dreamy in hues of blue and silver. Steve doesn't turn on any other lights.

He does, however, shut the door behind them.

“There's no lock,” Steve tells Billy. “We could get caught.”

Billy stares at him for a long beat in the darkness, just distance sounds of the party breaking through the silence.

“You’re kinky as _fuck_ , Harrington,” Billy tells him, but he takes a step closer to Steve. A small one, like he’s _hesitant_. Like Billy fucking Hargrove has _ever_ been hesitant in his life.

Steve eases up closer, hooking his fingers into Billy's belt loops and urging him closer, too.

“Maybe just a little,” Steve says. “I told you it was a terrible idea.”

“You’re full of terrible ideas,” Billy says, but he takes another step, and suddenly he’s flush against Steve, warm and familiar. “So,” Billy says, voice dropping as he reaches up to run his thumb along the underside of Steve’s jaw. “You wanna sit on my lap and call me _daddy_ here in the study?”

“Maybe just a little,” Steve says again, breathless.

“No harm in just a _little,”_ Billy tells him before he leans in and presses a slow kiss right on Steve’s jaw, breath ghosting over his ear, enough to leave him shivering.

Eyes half shuttered, breath short, Steve turns his face and catches Billy's mouth with his own. He bites, gentle, at his lower lip, and then soothes it with his tongue.

Billy lets him, for a second, just relaxing into the kiss -- before he pulls away. Steve watches as Billy backs up, as he sits down in Steve’s dad’s stiff-backed leather chair. Then, Billy pats his thigh, legs splaying a little, and he says with such a familiar grin, “C’mere, baby. Come sit on daddy’s lap.”

“Jesus,” Steve says, staring at him for a second like he can't believe they're entertaining this idea even a little.

But they are. And Steve's burning up. And Billy's looking at him like he's got it just as bad.

So, he walks over and braces a hand on the top of the chair. Toes off his shoes. Slides into Billy's lap, knees on either side of his thighs.

He presses in close, until he can feel Billy's warmth, and smoothes his hands down Billy's chest. “Like this?” he asks.

“Yeah, baby,” Billy says, smoothing his hands over Steve’s thighs. “Like that. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Steve shudders. He kind of hates how much he likes that. Almost as much as he liked fisting his hand in Billy's hair and watching his cock disappear past his lips.

It's heady. Near dizzying.

“You gonna be _nice_ to me, daddy?” Steve asks, heart thumping in his chest.

“Hmm,” Billy hums. He leans forward, lips ghosting over Steve’s jaw. “Depends. You been good for daddy?”

Steve shudders. “All year long.”

“And you deserve something nice, right?” Billy says, his voice all low, like it’s a secret. “But you gotta ask me for it, don’t you? Real nice, baby.”

Steve feels kind of clammy, all over. His palms are sweating, his chest a little tight, and he's _shaking_ , he realizes, as he feathers kisses across Billy's cheek.

“Please, daddy?” Steve asks, hips rolling, grinding down. “Been so good. Want you so bad, daddy.”

As Steve grinds down, he can feel Billy’s cock through layers of khaki and chino. Billy’s hips move, like he’s rolling them up, breathing harder than before.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking _hot_ ,” he hears Billy murmur, lips pressing a wet kiss to Steve’s neck, but it’s a quiet thing, like more of a thought for himself than for Steve.

Then, there’s the heat of Billy’s hand pressing down against Steve’s crotch, palming over his dick. Giving Steve at least some of the relief he wants so badly.

“That feel good, baby?” Billy says, catching the corner of Steve’s lips in a kiss.

Steve's hips stutter forward and he clutches at Billy's shoulders. “ _God_ , yes.”

But Billy doesn’t unzip Steve’s pants -- he just keeps palming him, teasing, giving Steve something to grind up against.

“Yeah, daddy’s gonna take real good care of you,” Billy says. “Now c’mere, gimme a kiss.”

Steve bites back a desperate little sound. He ruts, a bit shamelessly, against Billy's hand as he dips down and catches Billy's mouth.

The kiss is sloppy. A breathless press of their lips. Steve gasps and moans into it, bucking as Billy _squeezes_ him through his pants.

“Please, daddy.” Steve mumbles, kissing him between words, groaning when Billy digs his palm _hard_ against Steve's dick, making it jump. “ _Ah, fuck_ \-- please.”

Billy hums into the kiss, licking into Steve’s mouth like he’s thirsty for it, like he’s treating Steve to something _nice_. His fingers pop open the button on Steve’s pants, but they hover over the zipper, fingers sliding along it, teasing some more, like he’s _considering_.

“Gonna give you something nice,” Billy says, voice all hushed. “But the door doesn't lock and you don't want anyone _interrupting_ us, right? You gotta be _real_ quiet for daddy.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. Heat rushes through him.

“I will,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “I'll be quiet, daddy, _please_.”

“Good,” Billy says.

And, honestly, it’s probably for the best. If they were to get caught, Steve doesn’t _know_ what he’d do.

He eases Steve’s zipper down and works his cock out of his boxers, warm fingers sliding around Steve’s length. He’s so fucking _hard_ already, like Billy didn’t just suck his brains out in the car -- but that was at _least_ a couple hours ago, and Steve’s sitting on Billy’s lap in his _dad_ ’s study, calling Billy _daddy_ , promising to be fucking _quiet_.

And it’s like, so, _so_ fucked up. But it’s also one of the hottest damn things Steve can even _imagine._

Steve huffs out a breath and bucks forward into his hand. His throat works as he swallows down a _whine_ , cock already weeping precome.

Billy pushes a thumb through it and kisses Steve again. He fists Steve slowly, just teasing him, taking his fucking _time_ , like he’s savoring the moment, like they’re not minutes from getting caught. And maybe they’re not, but maybe they _are_ , and _that_ sparks heat in Steve’s gut, has him twisting, shifting on Billy’s lap, enough that Billy pulls back to grin, to shush Steve _while_ he’s jacking him off.

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you, gonna take real good care of you.”

“Take care of me _faster_ ,” Steve hisses, rutting a little more, a burning in his gut as he fucks into Billy's fist.

And Billy just _laughs_. And then, he fucking slows _down_.

“ _Hey_ ,” Billy says, a little low, a little _short._ Like a reprimand. “You want me to _spank_ you?”

Steve _does_ whine, then. Squirming and trying not to say _yes, please_.

“ _Sorry,_ daddy.” Steve says. “Just want it so _bad_.”

Billy curses under his breath. But he keeps stroking Steve, even though he’s slower now, fingers brushing right over that cluster of nerves under the head of his dick.

“Could put you right over my knee,” Billy says, like maybe he’s considering it, his other hand grabbing at Steve’s ass, hard. Not spanking, but holding, like he _wants_ to. And honestly, he probably _would_ , if it wouldn’t be loud. Billy’s gross like that, into pretty much _anything_ at all.

Steve's throat works. His eyes shut tight and his dick pulses tellingly in Billy's grip.

“I'll be good,” Steve says, trying to go still, trying to hold steady while Billy _torments_ him.

Billy’s hips shift underneath him, like he can barely contain himself. And he probably _can’t_ , considering Billy’s _touching_ Steve, and he _still_ can barely keep himself together.

“Course you will,” Billy says, pressing another kiss to Steve’s lips, messy and full of tongue. He works his fingers a little faster, and it feels _so_ good, like Billy’s giving him a gift. Giving him something _nice_. “Told you daddy’d take care of you.”

Steve pants, heavy, into the space between their mouths. He squeezes his eyes shut again and covers his mouth when he can't bite back a moan.

His thighs are _shaking_ as the sound is muffled. He tries to hold still, hold steady, to see if Billy will give him _more_ , but he bucks helplessly a couple of times when Billy thumbs under the head of him again.

Steve's usually _loud_. Vocal, in bed, and out. It's _hard_ not to just whine and moan and _rut_.

“You’re gonna come in my hand, baby,” Billy says, “and then you’re gonna clean up your mess from my fingers.”

Billy gives him a _little_ more. Squeezes him a hair tighter, moves a bit faster. It’s not _nearly_ enough, but it feels like Billy’s being _nice_ , like maybe Steve did earn it somehow, like maybe he was _good_ enough for Billy to give him this.

Steve wants him to _keep_ giving it. He whines into his palm and rocks in Billy's lap like he'd do if he was riding him and not just being stroked off with Billy giving him filthy fucking promises.

“ _Please,”_ Steve gasps, when the edge keeps evading him, when he can't _take it_ , and grasps at Billy between desperate, open mouthed kisses. “Please, daddy, let me-- Wanna come for you, please, daddy.”

And Billy finally -- fucking _finally --_ listens.

“Come for me, baby,” Billy says.

He leans forward and kisses Steve harder, picking up the pace of his strokes, jacking off Steve like he _means_ it now. Like he’s trying to get him off, hard and fast and _dirty_ , with a little twist to his wrist, mouth wet and hot as Steve breathes into it.

Steve's _drowning_ in the pleasure of it. In the sick, filthy fantasy of it. In the _danger_.

He bucks a few more times. Keens against Billy's mouth as he stutters forward and spills out.

“ _Billy,”_ he breathes, curling a hand over the back of his neck, dragging him close, kissing him deep as Billy strokes him through it.

Billy thumbs over the head of him, catching all of his come into his hand as he keeps stroking until Steve starts whining, starts batting him away.

“God, you’re so fucking _hot_ ,” Billy says.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve mumbles, shirt sticking a little to his skin, shifting. “That was-- _god_ , Billy.”

And he thinks maybe it’s _over_ , but then -- Billy brings his hand up to Steve’s lips and thumbs over Steve’s bottom lip.

“Aren’t you gonna clean daddy off?” Billy says.

Steve feels the breath knocked right out of him. He opens his mouth, eyes locked with Billy's, and sucks his thumb past his lips.

Billy watches Steve like he’s entranced, like there’s a porno going on right in front of his face. And there kinda _is_ , because Steve’s making a pretty show of it. Locking eyes with Billy and lapping the come off of his thumb, and then his other fingers, as Billy provides them.

“Shit, baby, you’re so goddamn _good_ to me.”

Steve hums, gripping Billy's wrist and biting at the heel of his palm, right below his thumb, then soothes it with his tongue.

“Want me to take care of _you_ , now?”

“Fuck yes,” Billy says. “Gonna sit at my feet and blow me?”

Steve doesn't say yes. Just pushes out of his lap and onto the floor, kneeling between Billy's spread thighs.

Billy works himself out of his pants and pumps his dick, just looking down at Steve, eyes black in the dim light of the room.

“Fuck, you're pretty,” Billy says. Then, he reaches down with his other hand and gets his fingers in Steve's hair, combing through it. “Open up.”

Steve tips his head back, mouth opening, tongue sticking out. Ready and wanting.

Billy doesn't wait. He just feeds his cock into Steve's mouth, pushing it against the flat of his tongue so that precome smears against it. Salty and bitter. Steve wants to lick, wants to close his mouth around Billy's cock, but Billy's still playing with him, still working his way into Steve's mouth like a tease.

It's a terrible delight on his nerves. He feels fingers push through his hair, coaxing him closer, and his breath comes heavy as Billy feeds him his cock, mouth open and tongue out, eyes locked with Billy's.

He reaches up and squeezes at his thighs. Feels the muscle bunch under his fingertips. Feels the strength there.

He can only imagine what kind of sight he'd make if someone walked in. On his knees in his dad's study, sucking Billy Hargrove’s cock.

It makes him burn. Makes him tremble.

“It's okay, baby,” Billy says, voice barely above a whisper as he fists his fingers a little more in Steve's hair and starts guiding him. “I've got you.”

Steve relaxes into it. Lets Billy pull him until his lips are spread wide and obscene around him; Billy's not as long as Steve, but he's _thicker_. Fills his mouth so easily. So thoroughly.

He moans, eyes fluttering, as Billy presses _deeper_.

“You feel so good,” Billy says. “God, _Steve_ ,” he groans, hips rocking _up_.

Taking his pleasure from Steve's mouth.

It's even _better_ , hearing his name out of Billy's mouth. Hearing him say that while he's fucking past his lips. Like, for a moment, Billy was torn out of their little fantasy scenario by just how good Steve is.

Steve feels heat prickle along his scalp and he whines and sucks, trying to get him deeper.

Billy fucks his mouth, hips jerking faster, hand moving Steve's head faster. Until they fall into the rhythm of it, of Billy and his pleasure and Steve giving it to him.

It's a little whine before Billy talks again, and when he does, his voice is _fucked_.

“Baby,” he says, and then he pauses, swallowing around a moan. “You gonna let daddy come in your mouth?”

Steve groans and presses in closer. Tries to get Billy down his throat. _Wants_ it so bad that it _hurts_.

Would beg for it if he could.

Billy fists a hand in Steve's hair and uses him harder. Presses in deeper. Again and again, until his rhythm falters, his hips snap, and then he’s coming on Steve's tongue, going “Baby, baby, fuck -- _Steve_ ,” as it washes over him.

Steve lets out a muffled sound. He chokes a little, swallowing and swallowing, eyes fluttering back as Billy finishes spilling out.

He keeps him there, sucking and licking, until Billy pulls him off with a hiss.

“Shit, you're so _good_ ,” Billy says, fingers stroking through Steve's hair. Petting him. Looking down at him like he's been _brilliant_.

Ridiculously, Steve wants to _preen._

He settles for resting his head against Billy's knee. Hums as Billy strokes through his hair.

“That was _perfect_ ,” Steve mumbles.

“Fuck,” Billy murmurs, tucking himself back into his pants with one hand, the other still petting over Steve’s head. “Shit, that was _hot_. Jesus, Harrington. Who knew you were kinky as _fuck_?”

Steve lets out a little snort of a sound. “You just came down my throat and you're calling me _Harrington_?”

Billy makes a surprised little noise, but when Steve looks at him in the dim light of the room, he’s half smiling. Looking _oddly_ fond for his usual asshole self.

“Shit, is that not your _name_?” Billy says with a grin. “My bad, that’s _so_ embarrassing, baby.”

Steve frowns at him, then leans forward, dragging Billy closer with two hands under his knees. He bites at the inside of Billy's thigh, _hard_ , even through his chinos.

“Next time you get your hand on my dick, I'm just gonna moan _Hargrove_ over and over and see how much you like it.”

“I mean,” Billy says, leaning down just so he can lick at Steve’s lips like a _weirdo_ , “that’s my name. I think I _prefer_ ‘ _daddy,_ ’ but as long as you’re _thinking_ about me…”

Steve feels a hot little rush at that and follows Billy up, onto his knees properly, to catch his mouth. He bites at his lower lip, fists a hand in his hair, and licks past his teeth for a moment before pulling back again.

“I'll keep that in mind, _daddy_ ,” Steve breathes, in the space between their mouths, nudging at Billy's nose with his own.

“God, I think I want you to say that while you're bouncing on my _dick_ ,” Billy says. No shame, just arousal. Blatant, heady.

Steve grins, a little thrill of _delight_ rushing through him. “I could definitely be persuaded. You'd have to make it worth my while, though.”

“What, is my cock not enough for you?” Billy asks. He kisses Steve again, then breaks away to kiss right below his ear. “Because my ass is _real_ tight, too. Can guarantee you've never had anything as good.”

Steve grunts, the wind kinda _knocked_ right out of him. “ _Billy--”_

“Yeah, you like that idea? Maybe that can be your Christmas present, huh? If you're real good.”

It's like a _dream_ , hearing Billy talk like this. Being allowed to touch, to kiss, to fuck -- Steve never thought it would be _possible_ , other than those kisses put on just for show. He never thought _Billy Hargrove_ would be interested in guys, that he would be interested in _Steve_.

Just knowing that is better than any Christmas present he's ever received.

But that's not to say he wouldn't take _another_. The promise of Billy’s ass, even after Steve's gotten off twice, is _way_ too enticing to refuse.

***

Steve wakes with his body half covered and weighed totally and completely down by Billy Hargrove snoring in his ear. They didn't bother with clothes after stumbling into Steve's room not long after the party hand finally ended and everyone was sent home. They'd just stripped one another down to nothing, kissing and touching and savoring, and crawled into bed.

Waking with Billy Hargrove’s thigh between his legs, pressed snugly to his cock, is already the best Christmas morning Steve thinks he's ever had.

He hums and stretches all against Billy. Tugs him closer. Presses his mouth to Billy's brow.

Billy grumbles in his sleep, arms wrapping around Steve. He's a _surprisingly_ cuddly guy. It's a delight to wake up to, but it's also _warm_ , too.

And Billy is _hot_. It doesn't help that he rolls his hips and rocks into Steve's cock.

Steve moans a little. Tugs at Billy's hair after he gets his fingers in it.

“Billy,” he mumbles. “ _Billyyy_.”

“Why you waking me up?” Billy mumbles.

“It's _Christmas,_ ” Steve whispers.

“ _Yeah_? Should be sleeping in.” But Billy rolls his hips again, lazy, slow.

Steve's breath catches. “Maybe I want my present.”

Billy hums, low and slow. He rocks again, and Steve can feel Billy's dick growing hard against his hip.

“You been dreaming about my ass?”

“Maybe,” Steve huffs. “It's a nice thing to dream about.”

“I know it,” Billy says, and leans in, pressing his lips to Steve's neck, breath hot against skin. “You think you deserve your present so early in the morning?”

Steve shifts under him, letting out a soft sound as his head tips back for him. “I mean, I could always give you your present _first_ , if you wanna be greedy about it.”

“What's _my_ present?” Billy asks, kissing Steve's throat slowly.

Steve hums, voice low in Billy's ear. “Me, on my hands and knees for you, begging you to fill me up.”

“God, I wanna spend like, a _week_ having sex with you,” Billy says. He then pauses and takes a breath, pressing his lips into a gentle kiss to Steve’s neck. “Guess we still have a few more days, huh?”

Something in Steve's chest _plummets_.

He clears his throat, shifts, uncomfortably. “Yeah. Or… or _longer_ if, like… if you want.”

“What?” Billy says, pulling back so he can look at Steve, eyes dark and a little confused.

They’re interrupted by a sudden pounding on the door -- Steve’s mom, knocking on the wood, hard enough to make the thing rattle in the frame.

“Steven! It’s Christmas. You and -- your _friend_ ,” she coughs, annoyed, because Billy is _clearly_ not in the guest room, “need to get up for breakfast.” She then knocks _again_ , because of course she does. “Right now. Your father is already waiting.”

“Fuck,” Billy says, pushing away from Steve, already sliding out of the bed, letting all the cold air underneath the covers. “We uh, should get ready.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, shivering. “Be right out, mom!”

“Be sure that you are,” she says, in a voice that promises that breakfast is going to be a _delight_.

Billy already has pants on by the time Steve slides out of bed.

“Holidays, man,” Billy says. “They stress people out.”

“That's just her usual tone of voice,” Steve tells him, watching all that skin get covered up.

“I think they just don't like the idea of us boning on Christmas,” Billy says, pulling a nice, black sweater over his shirt. “Come on, get _dressed_ , pretty boy.”

Billy tosses a pair of pants at Steve, and then a shirt, plucking them out of Steve's bag.

“Oh, you're _dressing_ me, now?”

Billy just raises his eyebrows. “You think I’ve got bad taste?”

“You walk around in denim on denim,” Steve says, standing and stepping into his pants.

“And you think I look _hot_ ,” Billy says, arms crossed, leaning up against Steve’s door. Watching Steve change.

Steve huffs, pulling the shirt over his head, rolling his eyes. “I never said that.”

“You put your mouth on my dick. You wouldn't do that if you didn't think I was hot.”

Steve's face goes warm. “Whatever.”

“You think I'm hot,” Billy says.

And it sounds like something final. Like he's won something.

Steve huffs. “Can we just go downstairs?”

Billy frowns, the little crease between his eyebrows furrowing. “Wear whatever you want, I wasn't trying to --” he shrugs, then, and then opens the door. “I need to brush my teeth. See you downstairs?”

Steve falters and then gives a little nod. “Uh. Sure. Yeah. That's-- I'll see you down there.”

He doesn't wait for Billy. Brushes by and then heads down the hall. It feels like they’re both faltering, missing steps and stumbling and off-balance. He _hates_ it.

Steve’s halfway down the stairs when he realizes he just lost his human shield. Biting on the inside of his cheek he keeps going, trotting down the last few steps and heading into the dining room where his parents set up breakfast.

His dad has the paper out, so at least he's not _totally_ focused on Steve.

“Morning,” Steve says.

His mother offers a tight smile. “Good morning, Steven. Did you strip your bed?”

Steve's ears go red. Innocuous as the comment is, he knows she's livid and ashamed of him with a single question.

“No,” he says, sliding into his seat across from her. “There was no need. We were just sleeping.”

She hums, short and dubious, and turns her focus on fixing her cup of coffee.

“And where did you two keep running off to, last night?” his dad asks, flipping the paper down. “Edgar was here. I wanted to introduce you.”

“We were around,” Steve mumbles.

“Maggie said she spotted you practically _groping_ each other in the gazebo,” his dad's tone grows sharp. “Do you know how that kind of behavior reflects on me?”

“Sorry, dad,” Steve says.

“Are you?” his father asks, voice curt, tone dubious. But it doesn't really _matter_ what Steve says, because he knows that any answer would be wrong.

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, fingers flexing uselessly in his lap.

“Will your friend be joining us?” his mom says, setting a cup of coffee down in front of him.

Steve nods, taking the coffee and drinking it black. He'd prefer something painfully sweet to go in it, but he doesn't think he can take his dad's jabs about it this morning.

His mother hums again.

“I wish you would stay longer,” his mother sighs. “I feel like I never see you.”

_Yeah_ , Steve thinks, _wonder why that is_.

“We really can't,” Billy says, voice coming in from the doorway. “My little sister’s really been missing me this Christmas. And I need to make an appearance with my dad and my step-mom. Though I've really appreciated the reprieve, here. Thank you again.”

Usually, Steve would feel a shock of relief as Billy slides into the seat next to him. But the distance Billy puts between them makes his jaw go tight.

“Of course, William.” Steve's mother _beams_. “We're so happy you could come and meet us.”

Steve's teeth grind together.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Billy says. He's got that big smile on, the one that just melts the people around him. Except it's fake, Steve knows. Because he knows Billy well enough to tell he's on edge, covering it all up with a fake front.

“Well, it's certainly been an _interesting_ visit,” Steve's dad says, tucking the paper away and serving up his plate.

Steve tries not to roll his eyes. “ _Dad_ \--”

“You're young, so you probably don't know better,” His dad says, anyway. “But you'll have to be careful of that in the future if you want to keep your career in mind.”

Billy stiffens next to Steve, going for his coffee, fingers tight around the mug.

“Dad,” Steve tries again, but his father laughs and holds up his hands.

“I'm just saying,” he adds. “Nothing wrong with your… relationship. But a lot of people pay money for those types of pictures of politicians. I'd hate to see you wrapped up in a scandal for nothing.”

“Pictures of us...standing next to each other at a party?” Billy asks, eyebrows raised. Trying to catch up to what was clearly said before he got into the room. Then again, maybe he heard. Maybe he was lingering outside, waiting for the right time to walk in.

“I was telling Steven a couple of guests caught you on the cusp of _in flagrante_ ,” he says. “Just something to be cautious of.”

Steve can _feel_ Billy going tense.

“Then, they must have mis-seen, because I wouldn't do that. Neither would Steve. Honestly, I'm kind of offended at the implication,” Billy says, taking a sip of coffee. _Casually_. “I wouldn't have thought you'd be quite so prejudiced.” He pauses. Then: “Just something to be _cautious_ of.”

Steve's dad blinks, and then plasters on a smile so fake Steve's own face hurts in sympathy. “My apologies. Some of my guests have been known to… overreact. I don't see anything wrong with you and Steven having a good time together; others just might not be so understanding.”

Billy taps his coffee cup with a nail. Steve knows him well enough to know he's wound up tight, ready to snap. Steve wonders if he's going to throw a punch.

_Clink._

_Clink._

“It's 2019, Mr. Harrington. If others _aren't so understanding_ , they're on the wrong side of history. I'm not going to live my life trying not to step on bigots’ toes. And I’d hope that the loved ones of someone I’m dating would do their utmost to make things better, not worse. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've lost my appetite. Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Harrington.”

Billy sets down his mug, pushes away from the table, and draws his fingers over the back of Steve's shoulders before he walks out of the dining room.

Steve watches him go.

For a moment, all he can do is sit there. And then he's pushing to his feet, mumbling a quiet _excuse me_ , and following after him.


	8. all i want for christmas is steve harrington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i'm dreaming of a white christmas_

It's cold outside.

There's no snow, because life isn't poetic enough for Billy Hargrove. That would be too picture-perfect, too serene.

Instead, it's just _cold_.

After dismissing himself from the table, he’d yanked his jacket out of the hall closet and had high-tailed it out of the Harrington’s house.

Halfway down the block, he's already mid-way through his first cigarette of the day.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses at the empty street, toe kicking at a stray pebble, punting it against the curb.

For a moment, Billy just stands there, staring at the slick, icy slush that’s accumulated in the gutter. Dirty and wet and _cold_. The messy consequences of a _white Christmas_.

At first, he thinks it’s just the wind. Then, it becomes clearer: he hears someone calling his name.

When he turns, he sees that it’s Steve, half jogging and half walking down the sidewalk to catch up with him. Billy can see his breath, can see the flush on his cheeks, can see the way he wraps his arms around himself and rubs at them as he picks up the pace to meet Billy.

He’s not wearing a jacket. Just the sweater Billy’d tossed at him this morning.

“Hey,” Steve breathes when he’s a few paces away, his brow pinched, and Billy’s bracing for a scolding. But instead, Billy gets: “I’m sorry about-- I’m sorry,” Steve says. “ Are you okay?”

He’s not quite prepared for that.

“It's fine?” Billy says, a little knocked off his balance with Steve apologizing to him when it’s probably Billy who should be the one apologizing. “Why are _you_ sorry?”

Steve shrugs, arms crossing tighter and shoulders hunching up. “I mean… they’re my parents. I didn’t-- They’re not usually dicks to other people like that.”

“They're not _your_ problem. You shouldn't apologize for them.”

“They made you uncomfortable,” Steve says. “They’re my parents. So. I’m sorry.”

“They made me uncomfortable because they're _assholes_ to you. They talk a big talk, but they're just,” Billy stops, breathing out smoke into the air, watching it curl into the sky, “assholes. Do you want my coat?”

Steve falters, blinking at him. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I run hotter than you,” Billy says with a shrug. “Besides. I'm all worked up. When I cool off, I can put my hands in your pockets, or something.”

He's not even sure he's _allowed_ to do that, because everything feels a little up in the air, their conversation from earlier cut short, left undone at the ends. Everything and all of it soured by his rage.

Steve hesitates for another second, and then nods, shuffling a little closer. “Please,” he says.

Billy tucks his cigarette between his lips for a second and shrugs off the coat, handing it over easily before he takes another drag.

He's still so _hot_ , even though it's so _cold._

“Sorry,” Billy says, even though _sorrys_ aren't really his thing. “Hope I didn't ruin Christmas for you.”

“You’re the best thing _about_ this Christmas,” Steve huffs, wrapping himself up in Billy’s coat and rubbing his hands together, his gaze down. “In fact, I wouldn’t be _opposed_ to needing to leave _early_.”

“What, like, _today_?”

“If you, like, _want_?” Steve shifts. “I mean, I know Tommy and a couple of the other guys are gonna head up to the lodge in a day or two. We wouldn’t be beating them by much.”

It feels like a gift. The best possibility Billy’s ever been offered.

“Fuck yes,” Billy says. Because he wants nothing _more_. “Would your parents ever let you live that down?”

“They’d get over it,” Steve shrugs.

“Jesus, then let's get _out_ of here _,”_ Billy says.

Steve smiles, a little crooked, and nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”

***

“I cannot believe you told them I have appendicitis on _Christmas_ ,” Max says, through the speaker phone. “Who the fuck is going to believe that?”

They're already fifteen minutes out of Hawkins, open road in front of them. Shitty bigots behind.

Steve muffles a laugh into the back of his hand. Billy catches it out of the corner of his eye and grins with too much teeth.

“They did,” Billy says.

Steve shakes his head. “No, they didn’t.”

Max makes a noise. “ _See_?”

“Okay, they didn't. But I'm pretty sure Steve's dad didn't want me to call him a _bigot_ again, so.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s head bobs. “He got all red in the face. He doesn’t like it when things mess with his complexion.”

“He doesn't like the idea of his son getting head from a dude, either,” Billy snorts.

Max makes a disgusted noise.

“ _Billy!”_

Steve’s laughing again, covering his mouth to muffle it. His eyes are bright as he looks at Billy.

“Stop grossing out your sister,” he says.

“What? She doesn't know I actually blew you.”

Max makes another noise and promptly hangs up the phone.

Billy _laughs_. Loud and light and carefree.

“ _Now_ she does,” Steve says, laughter petering off a bit.

“Yeah, she's not gonna let me live that down. Not that she was gonna let me live this whole Christmas down _anyway_ ,” he says. And he _knows_ they should talk about it, should pick up from earlier, but -- it's hard. Billy's never been _great_ with words. He's better with his fists, with his fingers, with his tongue.

Steve hums. “Because you were fake dating me while you were in the closet?”

Billy nods. And swallows. It’s now or never, really. They’ve got a drive ahead of them and it’s _Christmas_. There’s no better time, right?

“Yeah. And because,” Billy says, swallowing. “Uh.”

And it’s one thing to tell Steve he likes guys. One thing to get Steve’s _dick_ in his mouth. It’s a whole other thing to tell Steve _all_ of it. The whole fucking story. But, when Billy _thinks_ about it, he doesn’t _want_ to keep things the way they are, doesn’t want to not tell Steve everything.

Steve just looks at him, quiet. Waiting.

“Because,” Billy continues, “she knows I’ve had a hardon for you, since, like, junior year in high school.”

“Oh,” Steve says, blinking, eyes a little wide; and then, again, “ _oh_.”

Billy doesn’t know what _oh_ means. But, there’s a part of him that listens to Steve’s resounding _silence_ afterwards that thinks it’s probably not _good_.

There was always the chance that Steve’s _or longer, if you want_ , was just an offer for sex, that he wasn’t interested in anything _more_. And Billy’s spent a long time today -- and before, honestly -- considering that possibility.

“So,” Billy says, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. “There’s that.”

“Would, um…” Steve clears his throat. “Would you pull over for a second?”

When Billy hazards a glance at Steve, he can’t find anything in his face that hints to what Steve _wants_. He eyes the mile markers as they pass on the highway, road practically _deserted_ mid-Christmas day.

Gravel kicks up under his tires as he maneuvers the Camaro onto the slushy shoulder of the highway and throws the hazards on.

“Why --?” Billy starts.

The second they’re in park, Steve’s lurching over the gearbox to grab at him. Reeling him in and kissing him _hard_.

It’s not a _good kiss_ by any means. It’s clumsy, and too quick, and even a little too hard. Their noses bump.

But Steve’s _kissing him_. After he said what he said. He’s kissing him and holding him tight like he doesn’t want to let go.

Billy can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him as he kisses Steve back, just as hard. He doesn’t _need_ an answer, not with a kiss like that, but he’s not gonna settle for _not_ being _kind_ of a dick about it.

“So, does,” Billy says, between kisses, “that mean --?”

“Yes,” Steve says, as if _that_ makes anything clear, gripping the back of his neck and kissing him soundly. “ _Yes_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Billy says, just to further clarify. Fingers in Steve’s hair, breath full of hope. “How much longer till we’re back at the Haus?”

“An hour,” Steve says, mumbles really, too busy feeding Billy kiss after kiss. “Then another two to the cabin.”

He pauses a moment, takes the time to kiss Billy for a long, uninterrupted moment. Bites at his lower lip. Moans a little.

It’s so fucking _perfect_.

“You’re staying with me,” Steve insists in a little hiss. “In my room.”

“ _Obviously,”_ Billy says. Then, he throws the Camaro back into gear, the taste of Steve still on his lips, and makes the hour drive in only forty-five and some change.

***

The ski lodge is just the same as it was last year -- packed with warmth, comfortable couches, and taxidermied animals on the walls -- but it’s predictably quieter on Christmas day. They have to page someone to check into their cabin, which gives them a chance to wander around in the main lodge and stretch their legs.

“Hey, it’s snowing,” Steve says, and Billy walks up behind him, looping his arms around Steve’s waist, settling his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Hell yeah,” Billy says.

He presses a kiss to Steve’s neck and then wanders back to check in and get their keys.

Ten minutes later, they’re throwing their bags into the biggest, nicest room in the cabin. Steve lingers by the window, staring out as a fresh blanket of snow begins to accumulate.

The light reflects softly on his face as he peers through the curtain. All his angles catching _just_ right. Billy reflexively bites down on the urge to call Steve _pretty boy_ , because it’s true, and then swallows past that and steps forward. Edges closer until he’s pressed against him, hands on Steve’s hips, mouth at his neck.

“I like this,” Steve says, voice hushed.

“Me too. Couldn’t think of a better way to spend Christmas, honestly.”

Steve hums, his hands coming to rest over Billy’s. “Well, I mean… I can think of a _couple_ ways.”

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas?” Billy says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s nape.

Steve laughs, dragging Billy’s arms around him. “Something like that. This okay?”

“It would be way _more_ okay with fewer clothes,” Billy says, but he’s not actually in any _hurry_. Just this -- is kind of _nice_. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“Dunno,” Steve says, shrugging a little. “Just… wanted to make sure.”

“Is it okay with you?” Billy asks, suddenly feeling a bit more unsure.

“Definitely,” Steve says, fingers threading through Billy’s.

Billy backs up to the bed and pulls Steve with him, sitting down, tugging until Steve’s practically in his lap.

“Hey, if I didn’t make it damn clear in the car, I’ve got a thing for you,” Billy says. “Just -- so we’re on the same page.”

Steve settles back against him, tilting his head back, kissing Billy’s cheek. “Me, too. Just in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Billy hums and tilts his head, just to give Steve a little extra space to kiss at his cheek.

“You know what I realized?” Billy says, arms tightening around Steve’s torso.

“What?” Steve asks, twisting around a little in his lap; it’s odd, how _comfortable_ they are, but-- in reality, they’ve been doing this for a _month_.

Billy presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s lips. “I never got my cash.”

Steve barks out a little laugh, head falling back. “Oh, jesus. Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely never get over it,” Billy says, stealing another kiss. “I’m broken up.”

Steve hums, chasing after his mouth and kissing him again. “Sounds like it.”

“Worst Christmas ever,” Billy says, letting himself fall back against the bed, arms around Steve so he takes him with him. “I dunno how you'll _ever_ make it up to me.”

“No?” Steve twists to face him, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “Can't think of a single little thing?”

“Well,” Billy says, a little slow, like he’s _considering_. Weighing all his _possibilities_. “The only thing I can think of is kind of _huge_ …”

“I _really_ hope you're talking about my dick.”

“Jesus, what _else_ would I be talking about?” Billy says. “Unless you’re talking about, like, a fat stack of cash…”

“You're so _fucking_ ridiculous,” Steve says, leans down, and kisses him. “I kind of love it.”

“Okay, but the question is: do I _get_ your dick? I think I've been pretty _good_.”

Steve huffs. “I mean. Why would I say _no_?”

It's easy to get lost in kissing Steve, leaning up and licking into his mouth, fingers tangling in Steve's hair.

It's a little while before Billy pulls back. “I would _hope_ you wouldn't say no. Not with my ass on the line. It’s a _nice_ ass, Steve.”

Steve laughs a little, nose bumping against Billy's. Moves and presses flush against him. Rocks a little.

“It is a really nice ass,” Steve says.

It’s a lazy sort of heat that builds within him. Not the crushing, overpowering sort of want he’s gotten kind of used to from previous encounters. It’s not like their moment in the car or in Steve’s father’s study. It’s something a little slower, a little nicer. It’s easy to languish in, to savor and enjoy. He squirms until he’s right under Steve, rolling his hips up to find the press of Steve’s cock against his own, both slowly filling to hardness.

“Hell yeah it is,” Billy says. “And it’s all yours.”

Steve blinks a few times, carefully dragging his hands over Billy's sides, hitching his shirt up a little. “You, uh… I can't tell if you're just flirting or if you're serious.”

Billy’s chest goes a little tight.

Because, like, he hadn’t really _thought_ about that.

But -- it’s what he was implying.

It’s what he _wants_. Pretty fucking desperately.

To have Steve to himself, to share him with no one else.

“Which sounds better to you?” Billy says, after a moment’s consideration. Not that it’s really easy to _think_ , with Steve’s fingers trailing over his ribs.

Steve shrugs. “I… I, uh… kinda like the latter.”

“Yeah?” Billy asks, arms wrapping around Steve a little tighter.

“Yeah,” Steve says, fingers counting up his ribcage, rucking up his shirt. “If that's okay?”

Billy shifts, arching up so that Steve can keep on tugging until his shirt is off.

“God, yes,” Billy says, surging up to kiss Steve, seeking the warmth of it, now that his chest is bare.

Steve moans, gripping his jaw with one hand and trailing his fingers across Billy's skin with the other. His touch is feather light; it feels electric.

It lights Billy up, teasing him until he feels hot, until he forgets that it’s snowing outside. It might as well be the dead of summer, with the way he pulls at Steve’s shirt, with the way his skin is burning to feel the touch of Steve’s against it.

“It’s so fucking okay,” Billy murmurs between kisses. “Just want you. So fucking bad. No one else.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve breathes. “I-- Yeah. _Yeah_ , me too.”

Billy rolls his hips, fingers finding Steve’s hip bones, just to pull him down, to let Steve’s body rock against his own.

“You’re _so_ lucky I packed lube and condoms,” Billy says, fingers dipping under the waistband of Steve’s jeans.

Steve hisses, Billy's fingertips cold against the flush of Steve's skin. “You think I _didn't_? I don't come up here up _actually_ ski.”

Billy laughs. Jesus, he can’t keep the grin from his face. “Wanna see how many times we can come before New Years?”

“Jesus,” Steve presses his face to Billy's throat. “You're trying to kill me.”

“I mean, _hopefully_ not,” Billy says, tipping his neck a little bit to the side. “But I'm _pretty sure_ they call it _la petite mort_ in French, though, so.”

He lets Steve mouth at his neck for a moment, then he gets his leg around Steve’s and rolls, shoving up, until he’s straddling Steve and looking down at him with a grin.

Steve stares up at him, a bit breathless. A little wide eyed.

His hands fall to Billy's thighs and squeeze, digging in to the muscle.

“You gonna finally give me a ride?”

“ _Finally_?” Billy huffs, but he rolls his hips, grinding down. “Like I've been _depriving_ you. You're _spoiled_ , baby.”

He leans down and catches Steve in a kiss, hands splaying across Steve's torso, holding him down, feeling the rise of his chest with each breath. Steve bites at his lip, pulls at his hips, and rocks with him.

When Steve bucks, Billy moves with him. He groans, unable to help himself, loud in the empty room.

It's nice, being in a bed. Having space. And time. Just the two of them.

“I think you're wearing too many clothes,” Billy says️, but he doesn't ease up. If anything, he grinds down harder, pouring himself into a needy kiss.

Steve moans, tugging Billy closer. Sucking at Billy's tongue. Billy can feel how _hard_ he is. The drag of his own cock against Steve's, even with the thick fabric of jeans in between the two of them, is addictive.

Billy indulges for a little while longer.

Then, he finally slaps Steve's side and rolls off of him. He pushes off the bed and sheds his pants on the way to grab supplies. When he looks back at the bed, Steve's just staring.

“You can get an eyeful when your dick is in my ass. Pants _off_ ,” Billy says, but he hovers next to the bed anyway, just to _watch_. Just to get his own eyeful as Steve shimmies out of his pants.

He's surprisingly graceful as he kicks off his shoes. Strips out of his shirt. Lays bare on the bed, propped on propped on his elbows, watching Billy.

His tongue darts out. Wets his lips. Billy watches his throat work.

“You gonna open yourself up for me?” Steve asks. “Gonna let me watch?”

Billy takes one last look before straddling Steve once more, calves slotting in next to the heat of Steve’s thighs.

“Damn, you really _are_ spoiled, pretty boy.” But Billy _loves_ it. “So lazy.”

Billy pops the cap on the lube and slowly drizzles some of the liquid over his fingers, not being too careful with it, letting some cold drops drip onto Steve’s chest.

Steve hisses. Arches like a fussing cat. But he wets his lips again and eyes Billy like a man _starved_.

It’s all the encouragement Billy needs to reach behind himself, to press a finger inside. It’s not the easiest position for it, but Billy’s flexible. And he’s practiced. And there’s nothing, _apparently_ , like fingering himself open while looking down at an appreciative audience.

He gets two fingers into himself before he’s panting a little. Alone, he’s usually quiet. But with Steve’s hands smoothing over his legs in encouragement, it’s hard not to arch his back and put on a little show while he stretches himself out, while he makes the way nice and easy for Steve.

Steve's gaze doesn't stray _once_. His attention is rapt, mouth open, panting with him like he's the one being opened up.

He strokes up over Billy's thighs. Touches his fingertips feather light to Billy's cock just to watch it jump. Groans when Billy bucks.

“Fuck, baby.” Steve breathes. “Add another. C'mon, sweetheart, show me you can take another.”

Billy can only do as he's told -- mostly, because he wants nothing more than to be so goddamn full. He slicks himself even more, and then starts pushing three inside. It's a _lot_ , but it's also incredible.

He lets himself slump forward just for the contact, just so he can bury his face in Steve's neck as he stretches himself wide.

“God. ‘S so much, baby,” Billy pants out, voice all wet and hoarse. “You gonna fuck me? You gonna fill me up?”

Steve bucks up under him, like he can't _help_ himself. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, _please_.”

Billy slides his fingers out of himself, nearly hissing as he ends up empty and wanting when he’s done. He uses his slick hand to spread lube over Steve’s cock, getting him ready. Getting him nice and wet.

He sits down on Steve’s thighs as he jacks him, just so he can get a good view. He loves how big Steve is, how he fills up Billy’s hand. It’s hot, really, thinking about the length of him inside himself, stretching him full. Splitting him open.

“Beg me,” Billy says, twisting his wrist as he works Steve over. Billy’s touching Steve, but his attention is focused on Steve’s face. “Ask me all pretty.”

Steve's head falls back onto the bed as he ruts up into Billy’s fist, panting heavy, mouth open. “ _Jesus_ , Billy-- _please. Please_ , just fucking-- I want you so bad, please, baby, just--”

Billy grins, delighted. “C’mon, baby, really put your back into it.”

He wants Steve in him so _bad_ , but there’s a rush seeing Steve like this, spread out on the bed all pretty for him, squirming with need.

Steve grunts, winded; blissed. He fucks up into his hand a few times and wets his lips.

“Baby,” Steve says, voice dropping to a sweet, soft cadence, eyes locked with Billy's. “God, baby, please. You're so perfect. Wanna be in you. Wanna feel you around me, please.”

And, like, Billy could do this for _hours_ , really.

But he’s only a man.

And he _really_ wants Steve inside him. Like -- ASAP. So.

He teases Steve for a few more seconds before he shifts forward, lines himself up, and then sinks down on Steve’s cock.

The slide of it is easy, though he takes it slow enough that he can savor it, slow enough that he gets to watch Steve’s face go all slack with pleasure. It’s beautiful. _Steve_ is beautiful.

And he feels _so good_ , so big inside Billy, stretching him until he’s bottoming out, filling Billy up.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Billy manages, once he has nowhere else to go.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes, arching a little, fingers flexing over his hips. “Jesus, Billy, you feel so good.”

Billy shifts, just to feel the way Steve stuffs him, just to feel the stretch. And it’s kind of _absurd_ how big Steve is and just how much Billy _likes_ it.

He plants one palm in the middle of Steve’s chest, fingers splaying out in the smattering of hair there, feeling the dampness of sweat and the muscles flexing underneath skin. The other, he lets settle over one of Steve’s hands, fingers intertwining. It makes Steve feel closer, makes the moment feel, somehow, more intimate.

“Shit,” Billy pants out as he starts to move. “Holy _shit_.”

“ _Yeah,”_ Steve breathes in agreement, rocking up to meet him, groaning and then tugging Billy down with helpless, greedy hands. “Oh, _fuck,_ Billy.”

His fingers dig in hard and hold him so that Billy's stuffed _full_ to the _brim_ with him while he ruts up _so deep_. It makes Billy's eyes roll back.

“Look at you,” Steve pants, and that's not fair because Steve's _gorgeous_ , all laid out under him and fucking up into him. “Jesus, you take me so _well_.”

And maybe it’s because Billy’s never taken a dick this big before, or maybe it’s because Billy’s never given a single shit about anyone he’s slept with for _years_ \-- but there’s something so much _better_ about this, about Steve looking up at him like he’s the world, while Billy’s so _full_ of him.

“Should’ve been doing this for _forever_ ,” Billy says, rolling his hips, trying to get more, more, _more_.

“God, yeah,” Steve says, rocking with him, curling up and reaching for him; he loops an arm around his waist, flexing up to meet him, curling his other hand at the base of Billy’s skull and tilting his head down into a ghost of a kiss. “Guess we gotta make up for lost time.”

“If you think I’m gonna let you leave this _room_ ,” Billy says, before letting Steve pull him into the kiss.

It feels so good, fucking himself on Steve’s dick, having Steve spread out and wanting underneath him. It feels even better to get his fingers into Steve’s hair, to pull and tug until Steve is moaning and tilting his head back, giving Billy just the perfect place to lean down and bite. The perfect place to _claim_.

Steve groans, bucking up sharp into him. Steve moves _perfect_ with him, meets him in the middle, fills him up just right. It's _bliss_.

Billy shifts a little, pushes back to ride Steve harder. Really goes to town, arching his body, putting on a _show_. He knows he’s pretty like this, and there’s a thrill to knowing Steve’s looking at him while Billy fucks himself on Steve’s dick, eyes all wide and dark and appreciative.

And then Steve gets a hand between them. Strokes over his cock. Ruts up in time with the rhythm.

“Wanna-- god, wanna feel you come like this.” Steve says, panting, muscles flexing and straining. “Will you come for me? On my cock?”

And _fuck_ if that isn’t the hottest thing Steve’s ever asked of him.

Billy nods, a short little jerky thing as he rolls his hips as Steve’s hand works.

It doesn’t take Billy long to get close. To get louder -- loud enough that it’s almost embarrassing, really.

“Ask me,” Billy pants out, holding on and holding out. “Ask me all nicely.”

“ _Please_ ,” Steve breathes, rhythm stuttering like he's close, too. “Please, Billy, come for me. I want it. Want it so bad, baby, please.”

And okay, _maybe_ Billy wanted to drag it out a little bit. But he’s such a fucking _goner_ for Steve Harrington.

All it takes is Steve saying _please_ and calling him _baby_ , and Billy’s coming, spilling himself into Steve’s hand as fireworks go off behind his eyelids. He curses and folds himself down, just so he can lick his way into Steve’s mouth during the aftershocks.

Steve groans as Billy tightens up through it. As he plunders his mouth.

He's quick to follow Billy over the edge. Clutching him closer. Panting into his mouth and bucking through it as liquid heat fills him.

“ _Billy,”_ Steve says, wrecked and ragged, between the sloppy presses of their mouths.

Billy kisses his name right out of Steve’s mouth, shivering at the taste of it, the sound of it ringing in his ears.

“Steve,” he murmurs. Then, he allows himself to smile against Steve’s neck, arms pushing underneath Steve to hold him even closer, biting back a bit of a groan as that shifts Steve inside him. “It’s _Harrington_ , right?”

Steve groans. “Don't _start_ that.”

Billy still grins. He nips at Steve’s neck.

“What? I’m _hilarious_ , baby,” he says. “You think I’m _great_.”

“I _think_ I'm a bigger fan of your _ass_ than your _mouth_ ,” Steve says, but he's smiling.

“You can be a fan of both,” Billy reminds him.

His nerves are still singing in delight, leaving him loose and content, feeling perfect. He kisses up Steve’s neck, lips lingering at his jawline, before catching him in another kiss.

Steve indulges him for a _while_. Lets his hands stroke up and over him, hums and kisses back, nice and slow.

“You're like a big _cat_ ,” Steve mumbles as Billy lounges over him.

“What, you _don't_ like me pressing you down into the bed with your dick in my ass?” Billy says, nipping at Steve's lower lip.

“Nah,” Steve says, stretching, giving a little _roll_ of his hips. “Not complaining. Just stating a fact.”

Billy _grunts_ , pleasure spiking through him at the movement. And yeah, Steve's a little softer now, but he's still _big_ and Billy's still sensitive.

“ _Careful_ with the merchandise, baby,” Billy warns.

“Sorry,” Steve breathes with a dopey little smile. “We should clean up.”

Jesus, is he ever gonna get tired of Steve's face? His smiles are the _worst_ , with the way they make Billy go all warm and gooey inside.

“Yeah?” Billy asks. “Or are you just hoping I'll blow you in the shower.”

Steve groans a little. “I'm _hoping_ to get cleaned up, maybe Netflix and chill a bit, and save up for later. Unless you're just trying to wring me dry.”

Billy laughs and shifts, just enough that Steve falls out of him. He stifles his own breath at the loss by pressing a kiss to Steve's cheek.

“Baby, you _know_ what Netflix and chill _means_ , right?” Billy asks as he slides off Steve and the bed, stretching his arms above his head, watching as Steve watches him.

Steve props himself onto his elbows, grinning all crooked. “Yeah, well, I'm here for that, _too_ \-- but I'm also down to _actually_ just chill with you.”

“It's about _expectations,_ Harrington,” Billy says, lingering halfway to the bathroom. “Like, are we gonna cuddle up and watch _Dark_ while you pretend to know what's going on, or are we gonna put on _Blue Planet_ while I try and see if you can come on just my fingers?”

Steve _shudders_ , pupils blown wide, lips parting. He slides off the bed and stands slow, crowding into Billy's space.

“I guess you'll just have to find out,” Steve says, but Billy's pretty sure he knows the answer.

But Steve's pulling away, padding across the room, toward the shower.

And Billy-- Billy can't help but follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for next chapter, which is more porn (obviously -- it's the two of us!), just to put a giant bow on top of this holiday fic.


	9. baby it's cold outside (but i've got an idea of how to keep warm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _to keep you warm this winter: basically an epilogue that's longer than **the fall of the house of usher** or **to build a fire** and filled to the brim with porn._

The thing is, Steve _actually_ likes _Blue Planet_.

He digs the sea creatures and the funky little crabs on the ocean floor. Is _enamored_ by the cuttlefish.

So, when they're cleaned up after a very long, very _hot_ shower, he actually pulls that up and pairs it to the TV in the room as he curls up under the sheets and picks up where he left off while Billy's messing with his hair in the bathroom.

“Okay,” he hears Billy's voice from the bathroom. “But, like, if you _want_ to watch _Blue Planet_ and fuck around, this better not be the episode about the deep sea.” And before Steve can even _ask_ , Billy pokes his head out of the bathroom doorway and says, “I know that English fucker’s voice _anywhere._ ”

“Arctic floor,” Steve says, falling back against the pillows, pulling the blanket up over him. “I've seen it, like, five times.”

Billy grunts. “Okay, I mean I've watched the deep sea one like fifty times, but I _still_ don't wanna be distracted during it.”

He pads over to the bed, still kinda damp but looking like he's glowing and warm, somehow, despite the chill outside. But Steve doesn't have too long to look, because suddenly Billy's _moving_ him, pushing him forward and crawling behind him so that Steve's leaning up against Billy's chest, Billy's legs bracketing him in.

_“God_ , you're heavy,” Billy says, still trying to get settled.

Steve settles back against him with a huff. “ _You_ literally just put yourself in this position. Don't _whine_.”

He can practically feel Billy rolling his eyes.

It's _kind_ of cute, but it's still Billy, so it's mostly annoying.

But Billy settles in and stops squirming, and gets his warm hands all over Steve's stomach and pecs, just lazily touching, fingers working a little bit at the muscles. And it feels _nice_.

“Hey,” Billy says, as they watch something weird skitter across the ocean floor.

Steve's kind of busy enjoying Billy's hands on him to do much more than hum on acknowledgement.

“ _Hey_ ,” Billy says again. A little louder this time. Pressing his lips to Steve's neck.

“ _Yeah_?” Steve asks, tilting his head over with a soft hitch of his breath, Billy's lips warm and tempting against his pulse.

“You're not the worst,” Billy says. Like it's _cute._ Like it means a little more than just the words coming out of his mouth.

Steve scoffs out something like a laugh, rolling his eyes, pinching at the inside of Billy's thigh. “ _Thanks_.”

“ _Hey_! I was being _nice_ ,” Billy says, though he doesn’t do more than shift away from the pinch. “You seem like someone who likes that cute shit.”

Steve laughs again, something like delight filling his chest. “I _do_ , but, like, you need to _up your game_. Especially if you're trying to get laid, right now. You're competing with seven gilled _sharks_ , okay?”

And it's true. There's three big ass sharks on the TV and Steve's _riveted._

_“Please,”_ Billy says. “You just fucking filled my ass with come. I'm not _vying_ for your attention.”

But his hand moves to Steve's nipple, fingers twisting at it, flicking and teasing. Steve's breath catches and he squirms a little between Billy's legs, gripping at Billy's knees just for something to _do_.

He jolts a little as Billy's thumb passes over it, a little harder, and he squeezes at Billy's legs.

“You sure about that?” Steve asks.

“Just because I wanna play with you, doesn't mean I'm hungry for your attention, baby,” Billy says, even though Steve's sure it's pretty much _exactly_ that.

“So, you want me to ignore you?” Steve asks, shifting a bit more until Billy splays out a hand on his chest and pulls him back, holding him flush.

“I mean, you _could_ ,” Billy says, flicking a thumb over Steve's nipple again, his other hand playing with the hair at Steve's happy trail. “If you're capable of ignoring me.”

That sounds dangerously like a _challenge._ Steve throat works, the muscles in his abdomen flexing taut, and he breathes out _slow_.

“This episode is really interesting,” Steve says, shrugging, but he's not even focusing on that anymore-- too busy trying to keep his breath and voice even. “I don't think you'll be able to keep my attention.”

“Yeah?” Billy says, voice up against Steve's neck, tongue lapping over his jugular, teeth playing with his skin. “Way too interested in those sharks, huh?”

Steve feels Billy's hand trail down and down, until his fingers are grazing over Steve's cock, teasing, testing. Not quite _playing_ with him yet, just touching. Light and gentle.

“They're interesting sharks,” Steve says, but it's a half breathless thing, and he knows Billy can feel how he _shudders_.

How his fingers flex over Billy's knees. How he presses back, more fully, against him.

He tries to ignore it, but he knows there's blood pooling into his cock, more and more with every brush of Billy's fingers, with every careful tug.

“Yeah?” Billy says, nipping at Steve's ear. “Just so riveted, baby?”

“Uh huh,” Steve says, gaze locked on the screen, blood burning under his skin as Billy's fingertips drag along the sensitive skin of his cock; it pulses, filling out more, and Steve bites down _hard_ on the inside of his cheek. “Super riveted. Just-- _so_ riveted.”

“Tell me about those sharks, baby,” Billy says, getting his fingers around Steve's dick, giving it a tug, playing with the head of it, slow. “What am I missing?”

“Uhm,” Steve blinks a few times, mouth falling open as his breath loses tempo. “They, uh… move really slow because, like, they don't get to-- to, uh... to eat a lot.”

“Wow,” Billy says, drawing out the word a little as his fingers pump Steve to full hardness. As he starts to coax a little wetness out of the tip of Steve's dick. “You're really learning a _lot_ , huh?”

“Uh huh,” Steve says, voice tripping higher, breathier, hips flexing up into his touch, fingers curling in to dig at the muscles of Billy's thighs, mouth falling open as his head lulls back for a moment. “It's-- _jesus_ \-- super, like, _ahh_ educational.”

Billy shifts a little. Hooks his legs inside Steve's and then pulls, _spreading_ them. Then, Billy grabs at the bottle of lube on the bedside table and, somehow, coats his fingers with one hand -- Steve doesn't _wanna_ know where he learned that -- and then reaches down, underneath Steve's balls, to play with his hole at the same time as his other hand jacks Steve off. All fucking _casual_.

“So educational, baby,” Billy says. “Would _never_ wanna deprive you of that.”

Steve's teeth grind together. His thighs tremble a little, spread out like that, leaned back against Billy, arms weighed down by Billy's as he touches him. Plays with him. Teases him.

There are two slick, warm fingers pressing at him. Making him arch a little and strain, head falling back on Billy's shoulder as he pants and shifts-- toes curling and fingers flexing out.

He knows-- _he knows--_ if Billy gets his fingers inside of him he's gonna _lose it_.

“Good, cuz, uh…” Steve wets his lips, gasping as Billy _presses_ , and then relents without pressing _in_ ; his cock jumps in Billy's grip. “Because it's-- like, it's my favorite episode.”

Billy’s hands are moving slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Like Steve’s a new instrument than he’s learning to play, to perfect. It’s kind of dizzying, a little jaw-dropping, because Steve never pictured Billy as someone who took his time, as someone who liked to tease and to torment. He pictured Billy more rough and robust, quick and a little selfish. And yeah, maybe that’s still true, but it’s also definitely something _more_.

Like he really truly gives a shit about Steve having a good time.

“Oh,” Billy says, voice low and breath hot against Steve’s ear, “well, I wouldn’t wanna keep you from your _favorite episode_.”

This time, when Billy pushes at his hole with those two slick fingers, Steve’s body yields and they push inside, both at once. So frustratingly slow, just a little bit inside. Enough to pull, enough to stretch, enough to feel _amazing_ as Billy tugs at his cock.

Steve's throat works and works and _works_ , swallowing down a moan, his eyes going hazy, his heart pounding in his chest. He huffs and wiggles a little, clutching at Billy's knees.

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice breaks, and he's totally _winded._ “That would-- that would be, like, a total _dick_ move.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “And I'm such a _nice_ guy.”

His fingers push in slow but unrelenting. Until Steve feels full, heart in his throat, fingers tight around Billy's knees.

Steve chokes on a whine. He shifts, hips bucking, and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

It's so _good_. Feels like something _divine_. Pleasure and pressure like a compounding force; he feels like he's five seconds from coming, just like this, Billy's fingers in him and his hand on his prick.

“ _Billy_ ,” he sighs, giving, relenting, sagging back against him. “ _Please_.”

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Billy says, slowly pressing a warm kiss to his neck, breath ghosting over his skin. “You want my dick? Or you want to come like this?” He crooks his fingers and Steve _groans_. “I thought you wanted to watch your show, hm?”

“Fuck, I--” Steve's vision swims a little when he opens his eyes, lashes fluttering, heat burning him up from the inside out, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “I just-- _god, Billy, just_ \-- don't stop. _Don't stop_.”

Billy, fucking _bless_ him, gives Steve what he asks for.

He’s still a _dick_ , though, so he doesn’t give Steve any _more_ than he’s already giving him. Just strokes over him nice and slow, and works those fingers into his ass, thrusting in an easy sort of pace. Enough to get his dick leaking precome, enough to get him squirming in Billy’s lap.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Billy’s whispering into his ear. The arm he’s got holding Steve moves so he’s holding him close, keeping him in. Preventing him from squirming too far away -- like Steve would _go_ anywhere, with Billy making him feel like _this_.

Still, it makes it _headier_ , somehow. That Billy doesn't want to let him get away. That he wants to _keep him_ , just like this, and Steve's brain coasts on the rush of it. On the hazy, constant, but not enough pleasure of it.

Feels like he could float here, for forever, held and on the cusp of _bliss_.

But his body _wants_. Lulls and throbs in equal measure. Pulses with how bad he wants to shake to _pieces._

“ _Fuck_ , Billy, just-- just-- _faster_. _More_ , god--” Steve's head lays back against his shoulder, his hips moving restlessly.

Billy laughs a little. His chest shakes under Steve’s back.

“Patience, babe,” Billy says, planting another warm kiss on Steve’s neck. Dragging his teeth over the spot his lips just grazed, like _that_ makes it better and doesn’t just add to the tease. “I thought this was your _favorite_ episode? Don’t let me distract you from it.”

Billy thumbs right over the sensitive spot underneath his head like he’s punctuating his sentence with the moan it pulls out of Steve.

“You're already distracting me from it,” Steve hisses, the small of his back curving as he tries to get Billy _deeper_.

“Not _my_ fault you’re not paying enough attention,” Billy says, a little chiding, as he crooks his fingers and _presses_.

Steve gasps, sensation like an electric current rushing through him, making him _shake_. He arches, straining in his arms, and sobs out as it hits him hard in the gut. Knocks the air right out of him.

“ _Billy--”_

And Billy does it _again_. Applying pressure and stroking Steve through it at the same time.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” Billy says.

Steve pants heavy, eyes rolling back, and he bucks into Billy’s fist, nails leaving white lines over Billy’s thighs as pleasure crests up and over him. He clings to it, for as long as he can, but then he’s shaking his head and biting his lip and moaning-- helpless, breathless, _gone_.

“I can’t-- I _can’t_ \-- I’m gonna--”

“Let go,” Billy says, curling his fingers _again_.

He’s pumping Steve with purpose now, grazing the head of his cock with his thumb every time, working him over with a twist that brings him closer and closer and fucking closer, still.

“I got you,” Billy says again, voice a breathy echo in Steve’s ear. “Let go for me, baby.”

Steve's spine curves as he falls over the edge. His toes curl and his mouth falls open, until he's crying out soundlessly, spilling out in sticky, hot streams. Body straining, sensation and pressure _devastating_ , leaving his ears ringing as Billy pumps him through it.

His come lands on his stomach in a mess. Billy kisses his neck while his nerves light up, while he breathes heavy and mouths out Billy’s name.

“Fuck,” Billy says, as his hand slows down, as his fingers stop pressing quite as hard. “Shit, you’re so fucking hot.”

Steve's just trying to catch his fucking breath. Hissing as Billy keeps stroking, just a little, until he's totally oversensitive and _whining_.

He reaches for Billy's wrist with a shaking hand, catching him and stilling him, and he slumps in his hold as he pants.

“You're a _monster_ ,” Steve mumbles, still riding the high. “We _just_ showered.”

“And _you_ stopped paying attention to your _favorite_ show,” Billy says. “We’re both monsters.”

Then, he brings the fucking hand that was just on Steve’s dick -- because Steve’s too shaky and weak to even _try_ to stop him -- to his own mouth to lick a stripe of Steve’s come from his finger. And before Steve can even say _gross_ , Billy’s moving and thumbing right over Steve’s lips,.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve breathes, eyes fluttering, but he opens his mouth for him, groans at the weight of Billy’s thumb against the flat of his tongue as he tastes himself and the salt of Billy’s skin.

“Shit,” Billy says, voice just barely a whisper in Steve’s ear.

It _should_ be gross, hell, it _is_ gross, but Billy’s so clearly fucking into it that Steve can’t bring himself to complain. Because he can feel Billy’s cock pressing up against his back, can feel the hard line of it, the heat and the wetness at its tip.

He presses his fingers into Steve’s mouth after removing his thumb, playing with Steve’s tongue, just like he was playing with him earlier.

It makes Steve feel _dizzy_. Makes his abdomen go tight, a sensation like the floor was just swept right from under him, and his softened cock gives a weak _pulse_ , weeping come from the tip as Billy presses his fingers deeper. Smears Steve’s own release across his tongue. _Presses_.

Steve lets out a muffled sound, _sucking_ , and Billy pulls him _closer_.

Billy asks a lot, as a lover. It’s not surprising, really. He’s not selfish, but he clearly has a _lot_ of energy. And just as much stamina as Steve figured, for a guy who goes to the gym sometimes three times in one day.

“God, I wanna fuck you,” Billy says, pressing down on Steve’s tongue. “No, I’m pretty sure I _need_ to fuck you.”

Steve moans, low and soft, breath stalling. He pulls at Billy’s wrist, eyes hazy, and he rocks back against him. Says _do it, fuck me, I want it_ as much as he can without words.

Billy barely even misses a beat.

Before Steve can blink, he’s spread out on his stomach on the down duvet, face against soft cotton. Billy’s fingers are _still_ in his mouth, even as Billy’s crowding on top of him, body a warm line of heat just down his spine.

Steve shudders. He grunts, teeth digging in at Billy's fingers, but not hard enough to hurt. Certainly not hard enough to deter him.

Hell, from the noise Billy makes, he fucking _likes_ it, the weirdo.

Billy's weight settles over him, solid and sure, anchoring Steve to the bed. He feels him press and rock against the curve of his ass and groans, eyes rolling back a moment, at the fucking _idea_ of having Billy _in him_ like this. Of being filled up and fucked out, nothing but _billybillybilly_ playing in his head.

And Billy doesn’t do much to slick Steve up more. Just grabs the bottle of lube and shifts -- and then Steve can feel it, _cold,_ sliding down the crack of his ass.

Gross.

But also expected. Because: Billy.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Billy says. “And you’re all mine, huh?”

And then Billy’s weighing down on him again -- but this time, his dick is pressing at Steve’s ass, sliding against the lube there. Big, because all of Billy is big.

Steve whines, kicking his feet a little, sheets bunching between his fingers as he clutches them. Billy presses at his tongue, slides his fingers back deep enough to make Steve gag, and saliva slides down his chin. He arches his back, grinds back against Billy, and squirms over the sheets. Wants it so bad he's _panting_ for it. Feels needy, feels _dirty_ , lube running down the insides of his thighs as he makes a plaintive sound.

“Yeah, baby?” Billy says, and Steve can feel the head of his dick _pressing_ against him. Firm, but not quite _enough_. “You want it? Tell me you want it, baby.”

Steve whines, long and high, biting at Billy's fingers again as he tries to leverage his hips back. Tries to get Billy _in_ him, already.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” Billy says, and then he’s kissing at Steve’s skin, breathing hot and heavy against the nape of his neck. “Ask me nice.”

Steve grunts, thrashing a little, tongue pressing up against the pads of Billy's fingers. But he doesn't fucking move them. Fucks them deeper, in fact, and Steve _groans_.

“ _Plee-sh,”_ Steve slurs around his fingers, spit rolling down his chin, his face _burning_ , shame and arousal prickling across his skin. “ _‘illy, plee-sh, jus'-- fuck me--”_

He hears Billy _curse_ , low and deep and rough. Like the sound of Steve slurring out words around his fingers, wet and messy, is what is really getting him off here.

Which -- well.

Shit, it probably _is_.

“You’re so fucking _perfect_ ,” Billy breathes into Steve’s ear.

And then his hips shift, just a little, dragging his cock away -- before he’s pressing back, pressing _in_.

And, like, _okay_. Steve's taken dick before. He _likes_ taking dick.

But this is _Billy Hargrove's_ dick. This is something he's been fantasizing about for _ages_.

So he can't help the way his eyes roll back, the way he _keens_ , as the thick, bulbous head of him presses _inside_. Stretches him wide and makes him _ache_. Can't help but whine on each ragged breath as Billy eases in, so slick and warm and _big_.

He's still tight, even though two fingers loosened him up. But Billy is big and Billy is unrelenting.

“Shit, baby,” Billy breathes, sliding in a little more. Taking more of Steve as his own. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Steve strains under him, breath heavy, head _spinning_. The stretch of it is intense; _burning_. Pressure mounting upon pressure as he eases in and _in_.

For a moment, nerves shot and still shocked from his earlier orgasm, Steve thinks Billy will _never_ bottom out. That he'll just keep _filling_ him, until Steve _breaks_.

But then he _does_. Slides in to the hilt and _rocks_ , grinding in slow circles, and Steve _swears_ he can feel Billy so deep that if he pressed his hand below his navel he'd _feel it._

Billy bucks a little as Steve spasms, and Steve grunts around his fingers, nearly going cross eyed at the scatter of sensation it sends along his nerves.

Billy groans, a low sound that seems more involuntary than anything. It's hot, heady to think that Steve can make Billy come apart like this. That he can bring Billy to involuntary reactions.

But he doesn't get much time to think about it, because Billy's fingers slide over Steve’s tongue and then he bucks his hips, pressing in even _deeper_ , before he begins thrusting in, slow, but steady.

“ _Ahh, fff-uck,”_ Steve moans around his fingers, clutching at the sheets above his head, reaching for Billy's wrist and digging his nails in.

He moves with the rut of Billy's hips. Rocks under him, no leverage to push back with. Has to just _take it_.

His cock drags a little, pressed to the bed, and he huffs and pants as Billy fucks him _slow_.

It's _way_ more restrained than Steve imagined it. But maybe that's because they've got time, because there's snow falling outside the window and there's no one else vying for their attention. It's just Steve and Billy and each other, and Billy's got nothing to prove by going _fast_.

He's gonna kill Steve by going _slow_ though.

It's _torture._

Nearly every thrust has Billy rubbing against his prostate, and nearly every thrust has Steve's dick, now hard and aching, grinding down against the sheets. Billy's fingers are fucking his mouth, filling him up, unwilling to relent.

It's _obscene_. Steve feels _filled_ , completely, Billy in his mouth and in his ass. Feels himself _slip_ , into something that's less _human_ and more _raw ecstasy_.

Feels _used_ , kind of, in the most _perfect_ way.

He gasps as Billy withdraws his fingers, just enough for him to drive deep and hear Steve's moan come unbridled, and then there's three fingers spreading his lips _wide._ Pressing down on his tongue. Sliding _deep_ as Billy fucks in.

Steve gags and sputters, eyes rolling back, body jerking and tightening up around him as he practically _squeals_.

Billy just eats it all up. Teeth clamp down at Steve's neck, like Steve doesn't have _enough_ sensation to sort out in his head, like Billy's gotta give him _more_.

He barely has enough time to grunt around Billy's fingers before Billy changes it up. Picks up the speed. Thrusts deeper into Steve, taking him harder, plowing him into the bed with every thrust of his hips.

“You feel so fucking good. So tight,” Billy's saying. “So perfect for me. God --” he groans, “wanted this since forever.”

Steve _loses it_. Loses his grip on this, on Billy having him, _taking_ him. It slips right through his fingers, like it was never even _there._

He's lost to sensation. To Billy's voice in his ear, telling him how good he feels, and to the slide of his cock, in and out of him, thick and hot and _perfect_.

His eyes flutter back as he _groans_ , jaw going loose, breath coming in hot, wet bursts, jerking each time Billy fucks in. The bed creaks beneath them, and Steve bucks and bucks, spasming and seizing around Billy's length.

He's gonna come. He _knows_ he is. Knows he's gonna spill out and then feel his own spent cock drag through his come as Billy takes and _takes_ , and that just makes it _worse_.

He doesn't realize he's whining, he's _begging,_ wet and slurred around Billy's fingers, between each breath, until Billy _hushes_ him.

“I've got you,” Billy promises. “Shh, baby, god, you're so fucking good.”

His fingers press down on Steve's tongue, leaving it flat, saliva dripping down around Billy's digits and onto the sheets, wet and messy and slick.

“You're so good,” Billy says, thrusts unrelenting, endless, amazing. Harder each time. “Come for me, baby. Know you can. Know you wanna. I've got you.”

It takes a few more thrusts. Takes Billy saying _c'mon, baby, come for me_ in his ear. But it's all Steve needs.

He bites down on Billy's fingers, hard enough to hurt, a strangled half shout of a noise spilling from his mouth as he comes in messy spurts against the sheets. Body winding taut, muscles contracting and then shuddering loose as he bucks and ruts through it, panted breaths interspersed with broken sobs that sound wanton to his own ears.

He barely even registers as Billy fucks him through it. As his thrusts get harder, more erratic. He does, however, notice when Billy collapses on him, breathing hot and heavy into Steve's ear, burying himself in Steve with one last thrust as he comes.

“So fucking good,” Billy murmurs after a moment, voice a little slurred, a little raw. “So good for me.”

Steve's shivering through the aftershocks. Through the _rush_ of heat, of Billy spilling out _inside_ him, and he _moans_ , helpless and dizzy around Billy's fingers, slumping against the sheets as he tries to catch his bearings and his breath.

Billy's fingers slide out of Steve's mouth and then his arms snake underneath him. Holding. Hugging.

All of it punctuated by Billy pressing his lips to Steve's neck.

For a second, Steve just revels in it. Kind of fades, in and out, for a bit. Dozes.

Doesn't realize his eyes are closed until he opens them again, Billy's mouth at his shoulder, kissing over the soft skin that slopes up to his neck.

“Should suck on your fingers more often,” Steve murmurs, cheek squished against the bed. “If it gets you to fuck me like that.”

“Fuck yes,” Billy says, and his voice is husky and low -- either because it’s fucked, or because he’s turned on _again_. Or maybe both. “Do you know how fucking hot you are?”

Steve grunts. “Probably about as hot as _you_ are. _Jesus_. I can’t feel my _toes_.”

“Mm. That has more to do with how _good_ I am in bed. But I’m hot, too, so I’ll give it to you,” Billy says.

“I hate to inflate your ego, like, any _more_ \--” Steve mumbles, tingling from head to toe. “-- but, like, _yeah_. Super fucking good in bed. _Jesus_ , Billy.”

He can practically feel Billy _beaming_. It’s easy to tell, when Billy presses what is definitely a grin to Steve’s neck, breath hot against his neck.

“You’re really something, Harrington,” he says. “Best fucking Christmas _ever_.”

Steve smothers his own dopey grin against the sheets. “Yeah. I think I can agree with that.”

They laze like that for a little while, Steve floating in and out, before Billy finally pulls away, leaving Steve feeling a little empty -- and more than a little gross.

Billy wanders off, but before Steve can even really form a true complaint, Billy’s pulling a warm washcloth over his ass, mumbling something about how he’s a _gentleman_. It sounds a little passive aggressive, but in the joking way where Steve knows that Billy doesn’t really _mind_. Afterwards, he throws the cloth onto the floor on Steve’s side of the bed, where it lands with a wet slap, presumably smearing come and water all over the floor -- so he’s only _so much_ of a gentleman. No matter what, in the end, he’s always Billy Hargrove.

He doesn’t get back down on the bed, though. Instead, Billy’s fingers wrap around Steve’s wrist.

“No one’s here. We can be naked in the hot tub,” Billy suggests.

Steve blinks up at him, then gets his knees up under him-- lets Billy help him off the bed-- and then reels him in for a messy, lazy kiss. Feels something _content_ soak through him.

“Hot tub sounds good,” he mumbles against his mouth.

“Yeah? Or do you wanna take a nap?” Billy’s arms slide around Steve’s torso, warm hands settling on his lower back.

It’s a side to Billy that Steve’s never really seen before. Something soft. Something that screams _protective_ and _affectionate_ and so fucking _caring_.

Steve presses a little closer, dipping his head, nosing at Billy’s jaw and getting him to tilt his head back, mouthing along the strong line of it. “We can nap later.”

Billy hums. His fingers trace over the knots of Steve’s spine. Casual, soft. Light. His pulse beats under Steve’s lips.

“Perfect,” Billy says, and it truly is.

***

They spend the night getting pruny in the hot tub. And then they spend it _actually_ watching _Blue Planet_ , curled up together, sleepy and lazy under the sheets.

Billy curls an arm around Steve’s shoulders and kisses his temple and tells him _yeah, okay, those sharks are pretty fucking cool_ , and Steve ends up falling asleep with a smitten smile on his face.

When morning comes, it’s with soft light streaming in through the window. The world is covered in white outside, and Steve blinks slow, not even sure what time it is. Billy’s arm is heavy around his waist, snoring against his nape, and Steve kind of _loves_ it.

Loves that he can turn over and find nothing but tan skin, fingers skimming down the ladder of Billy’s ribs, tucking in closer. It’s cold, outside of the blankets, and Billy radiates a constant, steady heat. Steve curls up in it for a while. Lets himself doze in and out, like that, pressed to Billy’s warmth.

Outside the window, the world is blanketed in snow. They left it open, at least part-ways, because no one’s around, because waking up with the morning light is _nice_ , Billy had said.

Even though he’s far from awake and enjoying it, now.

Steve seems to be the only one who keeps waking up, who keeps checking in on Billy, who’s just softly snoring away like some giant cat who’s kind of purring, like he’s never been more comfortable in his _life_.

It’s kinda funny, really. Because everyone thinks Billy Hargrove doesn’t cuddle. Everyone thinks he’s so far from a sap.

But his arms are looped tight around Steve, like, even asleep, he’s scared Steve’s gonna go somewhere. Like he couldn’t possibly let him go.

Steve kind of _digs_ that. Like, a _lot_. He tucks his face up under Billy’s jaw, trailing lazy kisses against his throat, hand smoothing up his back.

Eventually, he touches Billy for long enough that Billy starts making these little noises. Like his subconscious has clued in to the fact that Steve is kissing him, that he’s touching up Billy’s spine, long before Billy actually _wakes up_.

Steve hides a sleepy grin against his pulse. Wonders what it would take to _wake him_ , like this, and drags blunts nails light down Billy’s side, until the muscles jump under his skin. Bites at a spot on Billy’s throat that makes him groan a little, and sucks, like he’s trying to mark him up.

He thinks, after a swipe of his tongue over Billy’s throat, that he hears Billy murmur his name. Like maybe he’s having a _really_ nice dream.

Which -- he _definitely_ is, because Billy shifts and there’s no hiding how hard he is, no ignoring how he rolls his hips involuntarily up against Steve’s warmth.

“ _Billy_ ,” he mumbles, moving in so that their hips are flush, his cock sliding against Billy’s. “Wakey, wakey.”

Billy grumbles, but his fingers pull tight around Steve’s ribs, grabbing and holding, like he’s trying to pull himself out of a dream. Or, like maybe he’s trying to pull Steve into the dream with him.

“ _Steve_ ,” he mumbles, but his fingers loosen and tighten again. And then: “ _Fuck_ ,” as his hips roll.

Steve pulls back after licking over the slight impression of his teeth, meeting Billy’s blinking, tired eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, breath catching as Billy tugs him closer and ruts a bit against him.

“Was having a nice dream,” Billy says, though his words are all strung together, sleepy.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, kissing his cheek. “What about?”

Billy shifts until his cock slots right up against Steve’s. His hips rock and they drag against each other as Billy takes in a quick breath.

“You,” Billy says. “And the ocean. And --” he hums, “a heist.”

Steve’s nose scrunches up, but he laughs a little. “That’s… interesting. Were we thieves?”

“Donno,” Billy says. “Never got to that part.”

His voice is still all rough with sleep, his hands still a little uncoordinated as they brush over Steve’s back.

“Just got to the part where you were pretending to be a _cop_ ,” Billy says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek, slowly waking up.

“Kinky,” Steve says, humming, eyes fluttering shut as he leans into Billy’s touch.

“I know my _rights_ , officer,” Billy says, fingers digging in a little at Steve’s skin, hips rocking in a steady rhythm against him.

Steve breath catches and then stalls. He arches a little, moving with him, friction just enough to make his nerves thrum to life.

“Save it for your spank bank,” Steve mumbles. “Or Halloween. Or the next costume party.”

“Mm,” Billy says. “You don’t want me to try to convince you not to arrest me?”

“Oh?” Steve’s brow goes up, and he tugs Billy a little closer, so that it’s an easier rut, his cock twitching between them as Billy’s drags against it. “How you gonna convince me, baby? Gonna make it worth my while?”

“Obviously,” Billy says, but his voice is still hazy with sleep, attention still not quite all there. He tucks his face against Steve’s neck and hums, content. “God, you feel so _good,_ baby.”

Steve moans, head tilting back. “ _Yeah_. Like, _same_.”

“Wanna wake up with you every day,” Billy murmurs against his skin.

His hands snake down Steve’s body, lazily touching sleep-warm skin, fingers working into the muscles with a soft touch. Like he’s writing himself into Steve’s skin.

Steve arches, groaning and shifting against him slow. It feels good, so good, sensation settling into his skin and his muscles. Into his goddamn _bones_.

“Don’t tempt me,” Steve mumbles, hips bucking a little.

“Mm. Could move all my workout shit into your room. You could sleep in my bed,” Billy suggests, as his fingers work their way down Steve’s back to his ass, fingertips kneading in, squeezing, slipping a little close to Steve’s crack.

Steve shudders. His breath catches in his throat, fingers digging in at Billy’s back.

“We’d never get to _class_ ,” Steve protests, but it’s weak at best.

Billy’s fingers graze across his hole, just teasing, as his cock grinds against Steve’s.

“ _Eventually_ we’d get tired. Or chafed,” Billy says.

Steve snorts out a little laugh, trying to pull Billy impossibly closer to him in the bed. “I’d get chafed before I ever got tired of you.”

Billy grunts as Steve moves him, their cocks grinding together with the movement. Steve can feel Billy leaking against his stomach, can feel just how hard he is, how aching he must be.

“Yeah? You fucking _romantic_ ,” Billy says, nipping at Steve’s neck.

Steve’s head falls back, bearing his throat to him. “I want you,” he breathes.

“Yeah?” Billy says, and he sounds so pleased, so earnest.

His finger presses in, just a bit, even though the lube is somewhere on the bedside table and they both seem a little too lazy to grab for it just yet. But the stretch is easy for right now, and it feels kind of good, the way Billy’s skin feels right up against his own.

Steve breathes out slow, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as his breath comes heavier. He ruts against Billy’s cock, shifting under the sheets, skin burning up.

“Yeah,” he says, panting. “So bad, baby.”

Billy works him open with just that one finger, slow and careful. The drag of skin against skin leaving him gasping, moaning, fingers clutching at Billy’s ribs.

“You want another?” Billy asks, dragging his teeth over Steve’s jugular. “Grab the lube, baby,” he says, when Steve nods.

Steve fumbles for the bedside table. Ruts a bit helplessly against him as he searches around for it. Gasps as Billy grinds a bit firmer against him.

He passes it to him, catching a hand in his hair, pulling a little and getting his face to tilt up so he can catch his mouth in a messy kiss.

Steve barely notices as Billy lubes up his fingers, too absorbed in the kiss. He only truly notices when Billy starts pressing two fingers into him. Filling him up. Giving him something to rock back against, greedy.

He pants against his mouth, letting out a shaky sigh, caught between two electric sensations-- Billy’s cock grinding against his and his fingers spreading him open. It makes a hazy kind of heat fill his head, and he moans against Billy’s lips, fingers tightening in his hair.

Billy grunts as Steve tugs at his hair, but he doesn’t stop opening Steve up. He curls his fingers and Steve’s cock jumps, his hips jerking against Billy’s.

“Wanna be in you,” Billy says. “God, I _need_ to be in you.”

“Please,” Steve gasps, straining, hips jerking. “ _Please_ , yes. Want you.”

Feels like he’ll burn up and _die_ , if he doesn’t have Billy inside of him. Aches for it, helplessly, and ruts with a bit more fervor against him.

Steve knows Billy's all for teasing. All for drawing it out. But he seems just as desperate, just as needy for the imminent connection between the two of them. Like maybe he woke up _craving_ and just can't get the taste out of his mouth.

Billy rolls onto his back and takes Steve with him, sliding his fingers out to slick up his cock with a desperate hand.

“C’mon, baby,” Billy says, hands on Steve's hips, lining him up. “Need you.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve breathes, eyes wide as he stares into Billy’s eyes, lowering himself as Billy guides him down. “Jesus, _Billy_.”

The pressure is steady and then Billy’s _inside_ him. Working in slow as Steve settles in his lap with careful movements, braced against the flex of Billy’s abdomen, and breathing heavy as Billy stretches and fills him.

His eyes flutter shut as he sits flush with Billy buried in to the hilt, mouth hanging open, and he gives a testing rock just to feel the way Billy’s cock twitches inside of him.

It's still so new, this thing with Billy. So exciting and strange and exhilarating. It's new, the way Billy looks up at him, eyes so dark and full of emotion. His hands clutch at Steve's hips, fingertips digging in, breath coming short and heavy.

“God, you feel so good,” Billy breathes out, hips rolling, like he's trying to get even _deeper_.

Steve gasps a little, hips circling, bucking a little more. “You stole my line,” he says.

Billy groans and Steve watches as his eyes half-close. Like it’s almost hard to keep them open.

“Don't let me -- stop you,” Billy says, fingers slipping down to cup Steve's ass as he slowly pulls himself out and then thrusts back in. “Always love to hear how great I am -- _fuck_.”

Steve’s breath is knocked right out of him. He lets out a half-cry of a sound, and then moves with Billy, thighs trembling as he starts riding up and down on his cock. As Billy shifts to thrust up under him. Steve’s head lulls back, pleasure burning so bright, low in his gut. He pants heavily, mouth open, and the cool air sneaking into their room through the cracked window makes his skin feel like it’s on _fire_.

“Feel so fuckin’ good in me, Billy,” Steve says, moaning as Billy bucks up sharper. “So fuckin’-- _perfect_. Make me feel so _full_ \--”

Billy makes all sorts of delightful noises underneath him. His attention is completely on Steve, rapt, undivided. His hands creep up Steve's ribs, mapping out all parts of him, everywhere he can touch.

“You're so fucking tight,” Billy says, thrusting up and up, tugging Steve down to meet him. “So fucking perfect for me.”

Steve groans, rutting down with filthy, desperate rolls of his hips, meeting Billy halfway, every time. They move so _well_ together. Like they’ve been fucking for years. Like they already know exactly what to do, what to say, to get each other burning up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve breathes, arching as Billy grunts and pulls him down again, mouth falling open as he pants. “Fuck, Billy, feel like I could do this _forever_.”

“Same,” Billy breathes -- and then his hand comes up to grab Steve by the hair, to pull him down into a kiss.

Steve feeds a moan into his mouth, framing Billy’s face with his hands as they keep moving. Billy keeps a hand anchored on his hip while they lick into each other’s mouths, breath mingling between them. It feels hotter, somehow, with Billy’s tongue slick against his own, his skin burning hot against Steve’s.

Billy's rhythm is perfect, his aim good enough to have Steve moaning nearly every thrust. He's a greedy lover, but more for Steve's sounds and reactions than his own pleasure. Like he could spend all day wringing it out of Steve and get off just for the sheer joy of it.

Which is new. In his world-view for Billy Hargrove.

“God, you're so fucking _perfect_ ,” Billy says, and then bites down on Steve's lower lip and tugs, all while fucking into him, slow and steady.

Steve groans, grinding down against him, cock caught between their bellies as Billy’s hips flex up to meet him. “Stealing my-- _fuck_ , fucking lines again.”

He can feel the edge of oblivion right around the corner. They’ve been rutting together too long, feeling _good_ for too long. Steve feels it building, like a raw pressure in his belly, and his voice comes higher as his hips move a bit faster.

“ _Ah,_ Billy-- I’m not--” Steve pants, hips stuttering, losing their rhythm. “I _can’t_. I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” Billy pants, and his pace picks up. Hips snapping into Steve, driving _deep_. “Come on. Come for me, baby. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Steve moans, a broken and sharp thing, trembling as he clutches at Billy’s shoulders, fingers digging in. His breath comes shorter and shorter, until he nearly stops breathing all together as Billy moves with him, chasing after his orgasm with a relentless fervor. Steve seizes up as it finally washes over him. Spasming and jerking slightly, gasping out, nearly sobbing as he spills out across Billy’s stomach and against his own. Toes curling and nails biting in at Billy’s shoulders as he rides the aftershocks through it.

Billy fucks him through it, pace steady, strokes long and hard.

But once Steve comes back down, once he stops clawing at Billy's shoulders -- he moves. He flips Steve, still inside him, until Steve's on his back, Billy pressing him into a cool spot on the mattress.

And then Billy fucks into him, harder now, lips finding Steve’s, kissing him a little rougher. With feeling. With a frantic sort of need.

Steve’s spine bows up, legs coming up, thighs squeezing at Billy’s waist, a high keening sound lost to the press of Billy’s mouth to his own. His expression twists up, a sweet agony quaking through him, body over-sensitive and spasming as Billy fucks into him hard and fast and deep. He tears his mouth away to snap his head back against the bed, eyes wide, lips parted on whine after whine that Billy fucks out of him every time he drives in.

“ _Ah_ , fuck, _Billy_ \-- oh, _god_ ,” Steve rasps, trembling under him, eyes tearing up as he’s _overwhelmed_ by it all, by Billy’s relentless, unyielding movement. “Billy-- Billy, _please_ \--”

Billy gives him what he needs, speeding up until his thrusts are erratic, panting into the space next to Steve's head.

“Fuck, god, _baby_ ,” Billy says, and then practically chokes on his own desire.

He dissolves into curses and Steve's name, a cacophony of it, as his own pleasure builds and crests. His hips shudder and snap and then bury into Steve as he comes, in one long last thrust. Body going tense. Arms sliding around Steve to pull him tight as he gasps out a breath.

Steve’s still panting when Billy shudders and slumps onto him. Both of them breathing heavy, pulses pounding. Steve’s _ears_ are ringing. He drapes his arms around Billy’s shoulders, tangling a hand into Billy’s mess of bedhead, keeping him close as they come back down.

A little dazed, Steve tips his head over and kisses at Billy’s temple, another shudder rippling through him. He feels Billy’s arms tighten up around him, and he hums.

“ _Jesus christ_ ,” Steve breathes, idly untangling Billy’s hair with his fingers as they lay there. “Holy _fuck_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Billy manages, after a second, and then Steve feels him bury his face against his neck. Practically _nuzzling_ at him.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Steve sighs, feels like he’s never gonna catch his breath _again_ , tilting his head over for him. “I’m never letting you out of this fucking _bed_.”

Billy presses wet and messy kisses against his skin.

Something affectionate. Something _needy._

“God, you're _amazing_.”

Steve moans, soft and breathy, shifting a little under the weight of Billy pressing him down. “I thought you were gonna make me _cry_. _Jesus_.”

Billy’s quiet for a beat too long.

Then, he hums. Thoughtful. “I mean, how close _were_ you?”

Steve huffs. “I dunno. Like, _close_?”

“Like, what, if I kept fucking you, you might've, like, _actually_ cried?” Billy asks. It doesn’t feel like just a _casual_ question.

When Steve twists to look at him, Billy’s looking back at him, eyes dark. Curious. Intrigued.

Steve shifts under that look. Feels like maybe it's _dangerous_. Feels his breath come a little _short_. Like maybe he should be _careful_.

“I mean, _maybe_ ,” Steve says.

He feels Billy's dick twitch inside him. There's no mistaking it.

It's right before Billy breathes out a surprised little breath, attention rapt. “Shit, that's fucking _hot_.”

He rocks his hips a little, even though his cock is probably still as sensitive as Steve's is. Steve's knees jerk up a little, his lips parting, his eyes going wide again. Feels the _press_ of Billy's hips to his own. Tightens his fingers in Billy's hair.

“You are _not_ gonna make me _cry_ ,” Steve says, but his voice wobbles.

“Baby,” Billy says, voice a little saccharine. “You _just_ told me you were close. What, you don't think I can do it?”

And Steve knows that there's nothing that revs Billy's engine up more than a _challenge_. Especially one involving Steve.

But Billy doesn't move fast. Doesn't _take_ the way Steve thinks he might. He just rocks his hips again, nice and slow, letting out a hiss at his own oversensitivity, and then catches Steve into a long, deep kiss. His free hand drops to the center of Billy's back. He feels the muscles flex under his fingertips as he moves, rutting _slow_ , making Steve spasm and _convulse_ around his dick. Feels it pulse inside of him. Feels it _fill out_. Bit by bit.

He groans and bites at Billy's lower lip as he breaks one kiss only to feed him another. Clutches at Billy as he moves, with sure, fluid motions, anchoring him down.

Billy keeps going slow. Just stretches the pleasure out, reawakens it with little movements.

Before too long, he's completely hard again inside Steve. Filling him up. Bottoming out. Hips moving a little like he's _using_ him. Even though Steve knows he’s not, knows Billy's trying to get a rise out of him, trying to wring him dry. He still can't help the feeling that Billy's hips, with every thrust, are just using Steve for his pleasure. The thought of it sends an electric thrill down his spine.

“You like that, baby? Me filling you up? Fucking you full of my come?” Billy asks, teeth at Steve's neck.

Steve breathes heavy, head turning to the side, baring his throat. His jaw clenches tight as Billy fucks into him, swallowing back the needy little sounds he wants to offer up. The desperate, gasping breaths he knows would just spur Billy on.

He drags his nails, blunt as they are, down Billy’s back as a reply.

Billy has no compunction groaning, though, moans kissed wryly against Steve's skin.

“C'mon, baby. Tell me you like it. Tell me you like being full of me.”

Billy's hips _snap._

Steve jerks, lips parting on a sharp sob of a sound; and it’s like a dam breaks inside of him somewhere. Like, once he’s started, he can’t _stop_.

Because when Billy does it again, Steve gasps his name, fingers digging in at his shoulder blades. When he does it _again_ , Steve’s toes curl, and he cries out, voice catching on the sound, until it twists into something ragged and wrecked.

Steve's noises pull something a little wild, a little feral, out of Billy.

His thrusts go harder, his movements grow sharper. Like he just can't get enough. He snakes a hand in between them, fingers wrapping around Steve's cock, fingers getting slick and messy from Steve's earlier release.

Steve whines out a faint _please_ , bucking up, keening when it just allows Billy to slide deeper, to fill him _just right._ He fumbles to catch Billy’s wrist as he pumps over his cock, clutch weak, fingers trembling. Tries to slow him down. Knows it’s probably futile.

“--fuck, Billy, _please_ ,” he finally rasps, voice high and breathless, writhing under him, straining as pleasure makes his entire body _quake_. “ _Please_ \-- wait, just-- _haa_ , fuck. _Fuck_.”

His throat goes tight. Feels another sob well up in his chest. He tries to swallow it back, tries to keep it down, because Billy’s dragging against his prostate again, and he can’t even _breathe_.

And Billy _knows_ what he's doing, knows just how to drag all the pleasure out of Steve.

“I got you,” Billy promises, moving so that he can kiss at Steve's mouth, at his cheeks. “God, you're so fucking hot. So perfect for me. I _got_ you, baby.”

Steve’s _gone_ , after that.

His breath hitches, catches, and then he’s whining. Whining with each hiccuping breath he takes. Whining as Billy slides deep into him and _grinds_ , circling his hips, rutting his cock against sensitive nerves. Whining as Billy withdraws and then snaps back in.

And then he’s _sobbing_. Tears welling up in his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face, features contorted into an agonized bliss as he pants and _cries_ , shaking to pieces, losing his grip on _anything_ and _everything_ except Billy moving so _perfectly_ inside of him. Coming with a shattered moan, jerking under the harsh drive of Billy’s hips, sobbing Billy’s name through it the entire time as he spills out over his stomach and Billy’s fingers.

Billy slows down. Then stops. For a moment, Steve thinks maybe he missed Billy’s orgasm, that he came and is now just breathing heavy, eyes on Steve's face.

He kisses Steve's cheeks, tongue darting out to lick at some of the salty tears running down Steve's face. It's gross, but it's all so much that it just blends together into the aftershocks, Billy telling him how _hot_ he is, how fucking _amazing._

But then Billy starts to rock his hips again. Starts to tease at Steve's cock again.

And Steve can tell he's still hard. He hasn't come yet.

Sensation is like an electric current. It makes him seize up, makes him thrash a little, clawing down Billy’s arm and digging his nails in at his wrist. It _hurts_ it feels so good.

“Sto-- _ahh, Billy_ , I can’t-- _I can’t_ \--” he wheezes, dissolving into another fit of tears, as he gasps, as Billy _keeps moving_. “ _S’too much_.”

Billy just hums. He presses another kiss right under Steve's eye, then at the corner of his lips.

“C’mon, baby,” he says, voice all rough with desire. With need. “Don't you want me to make you feel good? Tell me you want it. Tell me, baby.”

He doesn't _quite_ stop touching Steve with his fingers, only teasing him ever so slightly. But his hips rock slowly, just enough to keep Steve's tears coming, the pleasure shooting through his veins.

Steve strains under the pressure of it. The _heat_. He pants openly, eyes glassy, vision practically blurring at the edges. He whines again, a reedy, high pitched thing.

“I-- _I want it. God_ , Billy, _I want it_ ,” Steve manages to say, between hitching little breaths, lower lip trembling like he might just break down completely. “I want it, _I want it_.”

Feels fragile. Like he really _might_.

But Billy’s arms are around him. His lips are against Steve’s. He knows if he breaks, Billy will be there to catch him.

“You’re the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen,” Billy breathes out between kisses.

He doesn’t stop rutting into Steve, thrusting slow and steady, knocking Steve for a loop every time he presses in.

Steve's eyes flutter shut as he keeps moving. As he keeps up the pace until Steve feels a little less frayed at the edges.

He feels Billy's mouth press to his cheek. Kissing away the mess of tears away from his flush skin as Steve's breath evens out a little.

But the second Steve feels like he can breathe again, Billy takes that as an invitation.

His hand starts working at Steve’s softening dick again in earnest, lube mixing with come to ease the slide of Billy’s fingers against him.

“I’ve got you,” Billy promises, as he fucks into him a little harder, a little faster. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

Steve grunts, breath knocked right out of him, eyes flying open, lashes wet. His thighs shake and then tighten, as he clutches at Billy's shoulder and at his waist, helpless to just _take it_.

The bed moves under them as Billy picks the pace back up again. Steve rocks with it, cock twitching painfully in Billy's grip, and he moans, broken and breathless, straining up under him as his body is caught between meeting the sensation and running from it.

Billy touches him just right, keeping him on the edge of just a little too much, never quite veering into the territory of _overwhelming_. It’s just enough to keep Steve gasping, to keep tears rolling down his cheeks. To keep Billy’s name on his lips.

He thumbs over the head of Steve’s cock, touch insistent as he eats up all of Steve’s little noises. As he kisses away all the tears.

It's such a contrast. It all feels _brutal_. The pace; the relentlessness; the _endlessness_. Feels like they've been at it for _hours_. But Billy's so fucking _gentle_ , so goddamn _sweet_ , as he peppers Steve’s face with kisses, as he keeps coaxing his pleasure out of him.

Steve thinks that's what breaks him. What gets him sobbing, shoulders shaking, expression pinching up as Billy eases him through it. As he keeps driving in, keeps stroking, keeps anchoring him down.

Steve's cock pulses in Billy's grip as he spills out _again_ , coming across his fingers as he cries through it, as he gives in to it all completely, letting it crash over him.

“God,” Billy breathes out, kissing Steve through it. “God, you’re so good. So fucking good.”

Steve thinks he’s gonna _die_ when Billy keeps fucking him. When he goes a little harder, a little _faster_ as Steve’s coming down.

But Billy’s hips shudder. And his rhythm falters. And then he’s pushing _in_ , panting out a wet moan against Steve’s neck as he comes.

Steve groans as Billy slumps into him. As he holds him tight and buries his face against his throat to breathe.

Laying there, limp and sated under Billy, Steve sniffles a little and clumsily slides his arms around Billy's shoulders so he can hold him _tighter_. Like he kind of _needs_ it. The contact and the warmth. Even though he's still on _fire_.

Billy barely moves, like he _knows_ how sensitive Steve is. But he carefully pulls Steve tight, bracketing him in, pressing his lips to Steve’s cheek.

“So fucking good. You’re so good,” Billy breathes. “You okay, baby?”

Steve nods, a little slow, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t break you?” he asks, lips finding Steve’s neck, kissing him soft. His breath is warm against Steve’s pulse.

“Little,” Steve says, because his eyelashes are still wet and clumped together.

Billy hums. He hugs Steve a little tighter, fingers brushing over his spine.

“I've got you, baby, you're okay.” His words are soft, careful. Punctuated with kisses that are warm, that linger against Steve's skin.

“I know,” Steve hums, folding easily into him, letting Billy soothe the residual trembling and quaking out of him with tender hands and gentle kisses.

Eventually, Billy eases himself out of Steve and rolls into his side, pulling Steve close again, as he goes.

“You good?” Billy says, after a long pause of silence, of them just breathing together into the quiet of the room. He smooths his hand down Steve's spine, careful. “Was that too much?”

Steve actually has to think about it for a second.

He's a little sore, a lot sweaty, his nerves still going off with the phantom of pleasure-- but he's good. _Really_ good.

Fucking _euphoric_.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to Billy's chest. “Not too much. It was a _lot_. But not too much.”

“Good,” Billy says, and he sounds a little more at ease, like something loosened inside of him. Like he was maybe a little _worried_. Not that he’d ever admit to it. “Jesus, that was fun.”

Steve hums again, stretching a little against him. “Yeah,” he breathes.

“Think we need a _shower_ ,” Billy suggests. “Or, like, a bubble bath.”

His fingers stretch out across Steve's ribs, warm and affectionate. Just touching lightly with no real intent. Steve lets out a little sound, draping an arm over him, tucking his head into the crook of his shoulder.

“Moving sounds like a _lot_ ,” Steve mutters.

“Yeah, but you're gonna be a real _bitch_ if you wake up with spunk gluing us together.”

Billy presses a kiss against the top of Steve's head, into his messy hair.

“Yeah, _okay_ ,” Steve admits, pushing up a little onto one elbow. “Bubble bath?”

“Absolutely,” Billy says, and even carries Steve into the bathroom.

***

It's the day before New Year's when the other guys start to show up.

Steve's pretty sure he's never had so much sex in his entire _life_.

Billy’s lounging on the couch in front of the fireplace when Tommy and Sean burst through the door. His tan skin is on display from the waist up, dotted with lovebites and bruises. His legs are propped up on the arm of the couch, and Steve can’t even be mad that Billy stole his sweatpants, because he looks so cozy.

“What's good, bitch?” Tommy asks as he sidles up next to where Steve is pulling a fresh shirt over his head, grin toothy and wide. “We interrupting? Cuz there's, like, a _bus_ full of Tri Delts an hour out and we don't have _any_ booze.”

“You didn't bring a keg?” Steve asks, nose scrunching up as Tommy gets _grabby_ , tugging at his collar, trying to get a peek at the bruise on his neck.

“ _Nope_ ,” Tommy says.

“And you didn’t think to pick some up on the way?” Billy says, tossing a pillow at Sean, who just tosses it back.

“I would say you could’ve, but it looks like you’ve been _busy,”_ Sean says.

“Did you two run into some hot chicks on vacation _without_ me?” Tommy asks, and Steve--

Steve glances at Billy. Because _sure_ , they're a _thing_ , now. Billy waxed poetic about his _dick_ this morning; they're definitely a fucking _thing_.

He just doesn't know if that means other people can _know_.

Tommy pinches at his ass, annoyed. “You got laid _without_ me?”

Steve slaps his hand away and shoves him off. “What, like you wanted to _watch?”_

“Hey, uh, just putting this out there,” Billy says, eyes still on Steve. “But I don’t want to fuck Tommy. Sorry, Hill. But no _way_.”

Tommy puts a hand over his heart like he's _wounded_. “But I'm _beautiful_.”

“Steve’s _way_ prettier,” Billy says. “I think I’m good.”

Steve goes a little red in the face, but he's grinning, like a complete _dope_ , right at Billy.

It's then that it clicks.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tommy says, loud enough that Sean groans and swipes up the pillow in Billy's lap to launch it at him.

“That took _way_ too long,” Sean says.

“Jesus,” Billy says, “it _really_ did.”

“Dude, you owe me, like, _so much_ money,” Tommy says, pointing at Sean. “I _told_ you.”

“I'm sorry, you _bet_ on my _sex life_?” Steve asks, but he's not exactly _surprised_.

“No way,” Sean says, but he's looking at Tommy. “I owe _Carlos_ money, because he was totally closer. You bet they'd bone, like, last year. Carlos said it’d happen this winter break. _Before_ their whole fucking...Christmas _thing_.”

“Calling off betting for this fucking thing was _unfair_.” Tommy pouts and crosses his arms.

“No, it was _obvious,”_ Sean says. “Carlos already had money on this month, way before everything. It's his, fair and square.”

Steve meets Billy's gaze, appalled. “They _bet_ on our _sex life_.”

“Hell yeah they did.” He puts a hand up and Sean high fives him. “And I'm totally making Carlos pay up once he gets here.”

“ _You_ bet on our sex life?” Steve asks, and Tommy passes him the pillow without a word so that he can throw it at Billy's smug face.

Billy yelps. “No way. Jesus. But I'm making him give me a cut, since it's my dick he's putting money on.”

“Um, not _just_ your dick,” Steve says.

“Aw,” Tommy bats his eyes. “It's a lover's spat.”

“Okay, but I didn't get my Christmas money,” Billy says with a pout. “But I'll split it with you, sixty-forty. Jesus, I can't believe you would think I'd bet on our sex life.”

“That's just because you never _considered_ it,” Tommy cackles.

Steve huffs. “I mean, they're _right_. You _would_.”

“I absolutely would,” Billy says. “But I _didn't_.”

“But you _would_ have,” Steve says. “So, I’m thinking fifty-fifty.”

Billy makes a face. “Fifty-five forty-five. And you take me out to a fancy restaurant and let me blow you in the bathroom.”

Steve’s nose scrunches up. “ _Gross_ , Billy.”

“I can't believe you two hooked up,” Sean says. “Like. _Billy_ , Steve? Really?”

Billy lobs another pillow at him.

“He’s not that bad,” Steve says. “Mostly.”

“I'm fucking _great_ ,” Billy says. He takes a breath and Steve can tell he's ready to expand on that, in _detail_ , knowing Billy, when Sean hits him again.

“Don't you dare. Like, all my support for you, bro, but I do _not_ need to hear the details of your weekend sexcapades,” Sean says.

“Agreed,” Tommy says.

“Oh, so you _don’t_ want to hear about how--?”

Tommy slaps a hand over Steve’s mouth, face scrunched up, tugging him close with an arm around his shoulders. “Happy for you, but no. Booze?”

“Go get us booze, Hill,” Billy says. “And I won't tell you how my dick --”

Sean shoves a pillow over Billy's face.

“Alright,” Sean huffs. “Let’s get outta here before they scar me for fuckin’ life.”

Tommy nods. “Don’t have too much fun without us!”

“We will,” Billy promises. “Don't come back _too_ soon.”

Tommy flips them off as he goes, talking Sean’s ear off as they walk back out the door, leaving their bags by the foyer before they step back out.

When they’re gone, and it’s just Steve and Billy again, Steve looks to Billy.

“You good?” he asks.

Billy reaches out and grabs at the air. When Steve steps close enough to reach, Billy tugs him down onto the couch, wrapping his arms around Steve.

“I'm good.” He hums. “Time passed real fast.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs a little, tucking himself in against him on the couch, reveling in the warmth of Billy’s skin and the play of light from the fire. “Honeymoon’s over, I guess.”

“There's always spring break,” Billy suggests. “So, you wanna tell them we’re dating? _Are_ we dating?”

“I kinda figured we were,” Steve says. “If that's, like, okay?”

“Obviously that's ok,” Billy says, but he holds Steve a little tighter. “I -- don't really _do_ this. Dating, I mean. I haven't, since high school. But I want to. With you.”

“You gonna make a mixtape for me?”

Billy laughs and holds Steve a little tighter.

“Baby, who says I haven’t already?”

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays. love, us.
> 
> you can find us on a variety of social media, if you're into that kinda thing:  
>  **toastranger:** [tumblr](http://toast-ranger-to-a-stranger.tumblr.com/) [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/toastranger)  
>  **brawlite:** [twitter](https://twitter.com/brawlite) [tumblr](http://brawlite.tumblr.com/) [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/brawlite)


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